


Coming Down

by hell0lust



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Detox, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hell0lust/pseuds/hell0lust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a stupid bet to make. What was he thinking, agreeing to go 48 hours without drinking? Rick detoxes off of alcohol and Morty takes care of him. Sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With trembling fingers, Rick chopped up the last of his stash of collaxion crystals, neatly arranging the powder into three thick, even lines across his work desk. _Why did I make that stupid bet?_ Sighing heavily, he leaned forward, expertly inhaling the first line with the aid of his trusty snuff tube. He took a deep breath, smiling blissfully as the drug took effect. His hands stopped shaking, to Rick’s relief. He stared down at the remaining two lines, silently debating blowing his entire stash in one go. _Collaxion crystal has a fleeting high, might as well just do it all_. He reached for his snuff tube, hesitating. “God damn it,” he huffed, dropping the tube onto his desk. “Fucking Jerry.”  
  
Three hours prior, Rick had been seated at dinner with the rest of his family, doing his best to refrain from insulting Jerry as he prattled on about his latest job interview. In an effort to keep his mouth shut, he’d reached for his flask, guzzling the contents. Of course, Jerry had just _had_ to make a comment. “Alcoholic,” he’d muttered under his breath, shooting Rick a filthy look.  
  
It shouldn’t have bothered him; he’d certainly been called worse. By his own daughter, even. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist taking the bait; before he could realize what he was doing, he’d somehow agreed to going forty-eight hours without consuming any alcohol.  
  
“Withdrawal is going to be a _bitch_ ,” he groaned, rubbing his temples.  
  
Rick wasn’t stupid; he was more than aware that he was _chemically dependent_. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been completely sober. Even during his undergrad career at MIT, he’d attended most of his lectures drunk. A lush, his mother had called him. Rick laughed bitterly. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, eh?” he muttered.  
  
He was descended from a long line of drunks. He thought of his own daughter, Beth. Even she seemed to have inherited the _taste_ for liquor, if her nightly bottle of wine habit were any indication. _You’re a product of your upbringing. So fucking what? Don’t think about it._  
  
Still, he considered, there had to be a reason that Jerry’s comment had struck a nerve. Morty. Somehow, over the years, Rick’s feelings toward his grandson had graduated from purely platonic affection to something else. He gnawed at his lip, his hand reaching out instinctively to reach for his flask. You’re disgusting. He’s your fucking grandson. Drinking kept his urges at bay, allowed him to bury his perversions deep inside him. He sighed heavily. Of course, it only makes things worse. Slumping down over his desk, resting his head against the cool metal, he recalled a nondescript conversation he’d had with the teen barely a week prior.  
  
_“So-so you’re going to prom, Mor-eugh-ty? That’s, I’m sure you’ll have a great- a great time,” he’d stammered, haphazardly navigating his space ship home from the adventure he and Morty had just completed._  
  
_“Y-yeah, I hope so, Rick. I didn’t think Jessica would want to go, but she-she asked to go as friends so er, why not, right?” Morty had retorted, beaming up at Rick with a smile that warmed Rick’s cold, black heart._  
  
_“Guess, guess you-eugh-’ll wanna borrow your ol’ grandpa’s flash, huh? Get your- get your drink on, or whatever?” he’d remarked, grinning at the thought of Morty’s lips sipping from his favorite silver flask._  
  
_Morty had cleared his throat, a pained look on his face. “Err.. No that’s-that’s alright Rick, I uh, I don’t really want to-”_  
  
_“Don’t want to what, Morty? Jeeze, why are you being such a bitch? Afraid of getting caught drinking at prom by that dickless principal of yours?” he’d interrupted, rolling his eyes. He’d thought he’d rubbed off on him, by now. Where was his sense of adventure?_  
  
_“I um-umm-” Morty stuttered, visibly uncomfortable. “I uh, I don’t drink, Rick. I’m um, straight-edge, you know?” he said at last, gazing miserably down into his lap, cheeks flushed with embarrassment._  
  
_Rick cocked an eyebrow, confused. Both of Morty’s parents drank, and his sister certainly was boozing it up away at college. “W-why is that Mo-eugh-orty?” he pressed._  
  
_“Ah jeeze, Rick, come on...” he whined, turning his head away from him._  
  
_“W-what, Morty? Just say it, I don’t care.”_  
  
_“I don’t... I just... You and mom... I don’t want to grow up to be an alcoholic, too,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper._  
  
_Rick had stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel of the ship tighter. His heart sank as he observed his grandson, still staring red-faced down at his lap. So that’s what he thinks of me, he’d thought dully, slumping his shoulders forward._  
  
They’d spent the rest of the ride home in silence, Rick retiring to his room as soon as they landed, to drink.  
  
He hadn’t until that moment realized that what he did, his drinking, had such a profound impact on anyone. On Morty. On _his_ Morty. Rick exhaled loudly, again rubbing his temples. _God I would kill for a drink_.  
  
“R-rick?”  
  
Rick turned his head, watching as Morty stood nervously at the doorway to the garage. “What?” he growled, feigning annoyance.  
  
“Y-you don’t have to follow through with that stupid bet, you know. I mean, jeeze, my dad was just being an asshole, Rick,” Morty stuttered, chewing on his lower lip.  
  
“What, you-eugh you don’t think I can do it, Mor-eugh-ty?” Rick belched, rising to his feet and approaching his grandson.  
  
“Aw, come on, Rick... You’re-you’re an alcoholic, man. I don’t want you to like, die or something, you know?” Morty continued, wringing his hands together.  
  
“What makes you think I’ll die, Morty?” Rick asked quietly, taken aback by the concerned look on Morty’s face.  
  
“I’ve um... Well I’ve researched it, you know. It says-it says online that people detoxing from alcohol can have seizures and and hallucinations and-and-”  
  
“Morty, you’re an idiot. I’m-I’m great. You’re ol’ grandpa will be fine, alright? Just-just, leave me alone, alright? I’m busy. I’ve got work to do. Science, Morty. Go-go do whatever it is that you do, Morty.”  
  
“Are-are you sure? I could-don’t you need me to help you?” Morty asked, pleadingly.  
  
Rick shook his head, shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets. _No way am I letting him see me when I’m detoxing. Fuck that. He doesn’t... Doesn’t need to see how bad it is_. “I’m _fine_ , Morty. Go-go play your video games or something, I don’t care.”  
  
Morty nodded, lips curled into a frown. “Okay, Rick,” he sighed, turning to leave. “If you need me, just... Just come get me, you know?”

* * *

Morty stood at the doorway to the bathroom, his hand hovering over the doorknob. _Should I go in?_ He’d tried his best to sleep, really he had, but had woken to the sound of someone retching in the bathroom down the hall. _Rick, you mean. Rick is retching in the bathroom_. Morty frowned, biting his lip as he fretted over whether or not to check on his grandfather. He felt a warm flush bloom across his chest, imagining Rick, _his_ Rick, stripped down to nothing but his wife-beater and boxers, behind the door. His crush on the older man had begun not long after Rick’s return to their lives two years prior, and had been steadily growing ever since. Morty froze, panicked, as he heard a crashing sound, followed by a tiny _yelp_ of pain. “R-rick?” he called out, knocking on the door hesitantly.  
  
_Silence._  
  
Nervously, Morty tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. “R-rick, are you okay?” he called out, slowly opening the door.  
  
“C-close the door, Morty,” Rick sputtered, eyeing him with heavy-lidded eyes.  
  
Morty did as he was told, locking the door behind him. He stood with his back against the door for a moment, watching, horrified, as Rick leaned forward over the toilet, a stream of vomit escaping his lips.  
  
“R-rick, are you... What’s wrong?” Morty stuttered, wringing his hands.  
  
“W-what does it l-eugh-ook like, Mor-eugh-ty? I’m detoxing,” Rick muttered darkly, wiping sweat from his brow.  
  
Morty nodded, taking in Rick’s disheveled appearance; he’d stripped to his wife-beater and boxers, his top stained with drool and vomit. Sweat dripped from his hairline down his face and chest, the sour scent of alcohol oozing from his pores. His ashen complexion looked more pallid than usual. Morty stared at Rick’s hands, which were twitching. Rick lowered his head to the toilet once more, again emptying the contents of his stomach. _It’s probably all bile. He’s been in here puking for at least an hour, now._  
  
“You-you need to stay hydrated, Rick. Let me... Let me get you a glass of water,” he offered, a sense of urgency striking him.  
  
“There’s Gatorade downstairs, Morty. Get me that... The uh, the electrolytes- it’ll be better to stay hydrated, Morty,” Rick mumbled, wiping a trail of vomit from his chin.  
  
Morty obeyed, sprinting downstairs to the kitchen and retrieving the requested Gatorade. “Here,” he said, offering Rick the bottle.  
  
“Th-thanks Morty,” Rick said softly, hugging his knees closer to his chest from his perch on the floor.  
  
Morty watched as Rick cautiously took small sips from the bottle. “You’re-you’re shivering, Rick,” Morty observed, noticing that Rick was trembling.  
  
Shakily, he approached him, pressing the back of his hand against Rick’s forehead. “Jeeze, Rick, you’re-you’re burning up, man!” he exclaimed, eyes widened with shock.  
  
“Pr-pretty standard stuff, Mor-eugh-ty,” Rick muttered, rolling his eyes. “What, did the internet not tell you that fevers and chills and vomiting are common with alcohol withdrawal, too?” he sneered.  
  
Morty’s face fell, unsure of how to respond. He _had_ read all those things but he’d thought... he hadn’t wanted to think about Rick going through those things.  
  
Rick, mistaking Morty’s silence for something else, rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. “I’m-I’m an alcoholic, Morty, alright? Is that what you want me to say, is it, Mor-eugh-ty? Less than twelve hours sober and here I am detoxing like a _bitch_ , Morty. You were right, okay? I’ll probably-probably be seizing up at any moment, okay, _Morty_? Are you happy now?” he hissed, shakily rising to his feet.  
  
Instinctively, Morty rushed to his side, wrapping his arm around Rick’s tiny waist, in an effort to keep him upright. “No,” Morty squeaked, pressing his face against the crook of Rick’s shoulder. “I-I hate seeing you like this. I just...” he trailed off, hot tears trickling down his face.  
  
Rick sighed, petting Morty’s brown curls down with his free hand. “You’re a good kid, Morty. A good-good kid,” he murmured, pressing a kiss on the top of his grandson’s head.  
  
“Y-you could have a drink, if you want to, Rick,” Morty muttered, face still buried against Rick’s shoulder. “I-I don’t mind. Fuck my dad. If you-you need it’s okay. I don’t- don’t, I don’t want to see you in pain, Rick.”  
  
Rick nodded, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “Nah, Morty. I-I, I made it this far, Mor-eugh-ty. May as well see it through.”  
  
“Let me take care of you, Rick,” Morty whispered, pulling his head back far enough to meet Rick’s gaze. “I wanna- I wanna take care of you, please?”  
  
Rick nodded, unable to say no to Morty’s desperate plea. “Al-alright, Morty. You can- you can keep me company while I’m, while I’m going through _this_ ,” he relented, letting himself rest some of his weight against Morty’s frame. _He’s getting tall_ , he observed, shutting his eyes for a moment. Though still taller than the teen, Morty had shot up in the past year, standing only a few inches shorter than him.  
  
“You should try, try to get some rest, Rick,” Morty breathed, wrapping his arm tighter around the older man.  
  
“Alright,” Rick agreed, a small smile curling on his lips as he felt Morty’s arm wrap tighter around his waist.  
  
Carefully, Morty led Rick to his room, taking great care to rest him down on the edge of his bed. “Let-let’s get you cleaned up a bit, before you lie down,” Morty stuttered, eyes darting around the older man’s bedroom. He’d rarely been granted access to his grandfather’s bedroom, and was unsure of where anything was located.  
  
“Wife-beaters are in that drawer over there,” Rick mumbled, nodding towards a worn dresser in the corner of the room.  
  
Morty nodded, watching from the corner of his eye as Rick peeled off the worn wife-beater, exposing his bare chest. _He has a decent body for his age_ , he thought, turning for a brief second to pull a fresh shirt from the drawer. He strode toward Rick, shirt in hand. “Here, let me help,” he offered, assisting Rick in pulling the clean shirt over his head.  
  
His fingers lingered on Rick’s torso as he pulled down the hem of the wife-beater, marveling at how firm his stomach was. _Lean but surprisingly muscular_ , he observed, letting his fingers trace over Rick’s warm skin for a moment longer than was probably appropriate. “There,” he muttered, awkwardly folding his arms against his chest.  
  
Rick shivered, lying down on his side, legs curled up towards his chest. Morty felt a pang in his chest as he observed the man, obviously in pain. “Let me, let me get you a sheet, okay?” he mumbled, pulling a loose bed sheet from the pile of bed linens on the floor. “It’ll keep you warn, but still be cool enough to help with your fever,” he elaborated, carefully tucking the sheet around Rick’s prone form.  
  
“Th-thanks, Morty,” Rick whispered, weakly lifting an arm to grasp Morty’s hand.  
  
“A-anytime, Rick,” Morty whispered back, squeezing Rick’s fingers.  
  
“M-Morty?”  
  
“Y-yeah, Rick?”  
  
“Would you, uh... Would you lay with me?”  
  
Morty nodded, a smile creeping up his face. “Of-of course, Rick,” he retorted, crawling into bed beside his grandfather. “L-like this?” he asked, loosely draping an arm around Rick’s thin frame.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick agreed, his words thick with sleep. _He’s drifting off._  
  
Morty smiled, scooting closer to the man, his heart pounding excitedly in his chest as he held him close to him. “Love you, Rick,” he whispered into the man’s ear, once he was certain he’d drifted to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this doesn't suck too badly. A power-outage at work gave me ample time to work on this, while ignoring my hopelessly useless employees. I decided that gratuitous Rick/Morty fornication didn't really fit the whole 'Rick withdrawing from alcohol' storyline. But kissing and confessions of feelings!

Morty woke with a start, jolted awake by a sharp elbow jabbing his ribs. “Huh... what?” he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  
  
“I don’t kn-know, I don’t know what I did with the portal gun, ah fuck...” Rick muttered, limbs flailing.  
  
Morty froze, bile rising in his throat. He watched for a moment, fear-stricken, as his grandfather, back turned to him, flung the bed sheet off of himself, his movements spastic.  
  
“R-Rick?” Morty asked nervously, unsure of whether or not to touch his grandfather. _Christ. Is he having a seizure? Should I touch him? Is he having a bad dream? ___  
  
Deciding to take his chances, he carefully placed a hand on Rick’s shoulder, gently shaking him. “R-rick, Rick w-wake up,” he stuttered, unnerved by how _warm_ Rick felt. _His fever must have spiked._  
  
“W-what?” Rick muttered, turning his head to face Morty, blearily observing him. “What are-why?” he continued, turning away from him once more.  
  
“Hey,” Morty started, placing a comforting hand on Rick’s back, gently rubbing it. He frowned, noting that Rick had sweat through his clothes. “R-rick?”  
  
“Hmm?” Rick mumbled, trembling slightly.  
  
“You-you’re burning up, Rick. Let’s-let’s get you cleaned up some, alright? A shower should help... You sweat through your clothes.. Your shirt is completely damp, see?” he asked, guiding Rick’s shaking hand to his damp shirt.  
  
Rick sighed heavily, breathing through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered, slowly beginning to pull himself out of bed.  
  
Morty, noticing his grandfather’s difficulty, rose from bed, rushing to Rick’s side. “Here, let me help,” he offered, once again wrapping an arm around Rick’s waist to help keep his balance.   
  
“I need to-” Rick paused, pressing a hand to his mouth.  
  
Noting Rick’s panicked expression, Morty quickly ushered him into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. Rick rushed to the toilet, knees cracking as he dropped to the floor, heaving violently into the porcelain bowl. “G-good, you- do you feel better, now?” Morty asked, rubbing Rick’s back once more in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “You’re doing so good with all of this I-I’m so proud of you,” Morty continued, grabbing a hand towel off of the rack beside the sink.   
  
Rick turned to face him, sick dribbling down his chin. “Here, let me help,” Morty offered, wiping the trail of vomit from Rick’s chin with the towel. “You want a glass of water?” he offered, unnerved by the blank, exhausted look on Rick’s face. He’d seen Rick coming down off of days without sleep, week-long benders, but this... Rick looked worn, defeated.   
  
Rick nodded, mumbling a half-hearted thanks in regard to Morty’s offer. Quickly, Morty filled a glass with water from the sink, sitting down beside Rick on the floor. “Here,” he offered, handing Rick the glass.  
  
Rick accepted the glass gratefully, taking a large gulp of water. “Small sips,” Morty interjected, raising his hand to guide the glass away from Rick’s lips. “It’ll be-it’ll be easier on your stomach if you take small sips.”  
  
Rick nodded, lips curled into a frown. “You alright?” Morty queried, still unnerved by how uncharacteristically quiet Rick was.  
  
“Too much effort... talking... I just... I can’t,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut.   
  
Morty nodded, tears burning the corners of his eyes. _He’s in pain. What do I do, he’s obviously in a lot of pain_. “Let’s-let’s get you in the shower. A shower should make you feel loads better,” he suggested, rising to his feet.  
  
Rick stood as well, grasping onto Morty’s arm as he wavered, unsteady on his feet. “God damn it,” he cursed, brows furrowed. “I’m fucking useless.”  
  
“You’re going through withdrawal, Rick. You’re-you’re doing fine,” Morty retorted. “Let me help you undress.”  
  
Carefully, Morty removed Rick’s soiled clothing, struggling to maintain his composure as he admired his grandfather’s slim physique. He turned his back to Rick, taking a moment to adjust himself as he fiddled with the shower taps. “Do you want me to stay here and make sure you’re-”  
  
“I can’t... I can’t stand that long on my own, Morty,” Rick interrupted, arms folded tensely against his chest. “I need you to help me,” he concluded, icy blue eyes staring into Morty’s brown ones.  
  
“O-okay,” Morty agreed, staring, mesmerized, by Rick’s eyes.  
  
Gently, Morty offered Rick his arm, guiding him into the shower. “Don’t you want to-”  
  
“Nah, it’s alright,” Morty interrupted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I don’t-I don’t mind getting wet, I can change after,” he lied, desperate to keep his growing erection hidden as well as possible beneath his boxer briefs and the loose basketball shorts he wore for sleeping.  
  
Rick shrugged. “Wha-whatever,” he retorted, lowering his head to allow the warm stream of water to flow over his neck and shoulders. “That feels amazing,” Rick mumbled, swaying slightly.  
  
Instinctively, Morty reached forward, wrapping an arm around Rick’s waist, to keep him steady.  
  
Morty smiled as he felt Rick shift slightly under his grasp, apparently enjoying the calming effects of the hot shower. “Want-want me to, to help you wash up?” he offered, the faintest hint of a blush spread across his cheeks.  
  
Rick grunted a reply, which Morty took to be a ‘yes’. Keeping a steady grip on Rick’s waist with one hand, he retrieved the bar of soap from Rick’s hand, delicately massaging the bar against Rick’s back, lathering him up. A faint moan escaped Morty’s lips as he painstakingly cleaned and rinsed every inch of his grandfather’s body, enraptured by the sensation of Rick’s pale, soft flesh, warm from the heat of the water washing over the two, against his own skin.  
  
“T-thanks, Mort-eugh-orty,” Rick stuttered, turning his head to face the boy.  
  
“S-sure, Rick,” Morty stammered nervously, palming his erection in an effort to hide his obvious arousal.  
  
“I want a drink.”  
  
Morty sighed, pained by the flat, desperate tone of Rick’s voice. There was none of his usual fronts or bravado, the facade Rick kept up to keep everyone at an arm’s length distance from him; just a painful, resigned statement. _I’m sure he’d kill for a drink right now. A beer. Vodka. Fucking rubbing alcohol. Anything._  
  
“I know, Rick,” Morty sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know.”

* * *

Rick inhaled deeply, hand pressed firmly against his chest. _Inhale. Exhale._ “M-Morty,” he gasped, grabbing anxiously at his chest. The pair had returned to Rick’s room several hours before, where Morty had immediately fallen asleep, leaving Rick to mull over his thoughts, lying on his back in bed. _I can’t breathe. Fuck. My chest. Fuck._  
  
“Morty,” he said again, arm flailing out to grab his grandson’s wrist.  
  
“What?” Morty asked, hovering over him with a panicked expression.  
  
“I-I can’t, I can’t breathe, Morty... My chest... My heart is pounding,” he gasped, scrambling to grab Morty’s right hand.  
  
Fingers trembling, he guided Morty’s hand to his chest, pressing the smaller hand against the spot where he’d been grasping moments prior.  
  
“You’re, you’re having a panic attack, Rick,” Morty said calmly, delicately stroking the patch of skin directly below Rick’s collarbones. “Give-give me a second, okay? Breathe slowly, in through your nose, out through your mouth, alright?”  
  
Rick nodded, cursing himself for being so weak. _It’s all in your head, damn it. You should know this... Christ. Not even twenty-four hours in and already losing it, huh, Sanchez? You’re pathetic._  
  
Morty returned a moment later, a prescription bottle in hand. “I-I should have given you this before you started... started having an anxiety attack,” he stammered, uncapping the bottle.  
  
“I-I don’t know how much you should take but-but I read online that Ativan is commonly given to alleviate discomfort and symptoms while withdrawing from alcohol,” he continued, eyeing Rick nervously.  
  
“Give me it,” Rick instructed, holding out an open palm.  
  
Swiftly, Rick tilted his head back, swallowing down half the bottle of pills.  
  
“R-rick-”  
  
“It’s fine, Morty. It’ll take that much to-to help, trust me,” Rick interrupted, curling up on his side in bed.   
  
Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, appreciative of how quickly the drug began to take effect. “Th-thanks Morty,” he mumbled, lips curled into a half-grin. “You’re- you’re my little buddy, you know? Can always count on you to help your ol’ grandpa out, huh Morty?”  
  
“Y-yeah, Rick. You know it,” Morty agreed, lowering himself down onto the bed beside Rick. “H-how are you feeling?”  
  
“It’s hell, Morty,” Rick responded at last, propping himself up slightly to face the boy. “Don’t... You were right to... You’re better off, not winding up like me,” he mumbled, turning his gaze to his threadbare sheets.  
  
“Wh-what do you mean, Rick?” Morty asked, brows furrowed in confusion.  
  
“What you said the other day.. Or or whenever. About not wanting to wind up like me. Or your mother. An alcoholic. It’s... You’re smart, Morty. Smarter than I was, in some respects,” Rick continued, a trail of spittle dripping down his chin. He closed his eyes, breathing in once more, savoring the temporary sense of calm the ativan had provided.   
  
“I-I didn’t mean it like that, Rick. I-I think you’re great. You’re you’re so smart and you’re doing all these crazy things... I’ve always- I’ve always looked up to you, Rick. You’re amazing.”  
  
Rick smiled sadly, biting his chapped lips. “You’re a good kid, Morty.” _Better than I deserve._

* * *

“Rick, what the hell, man? Give me that,” Morty hissed, reaching for the silver flask gripped in Rick’s bony hand.  
  
“Morty, stop. Don’t make me hurt you,” Rick snapped, shoving the younger boy away from him.   
  
“What are you doing, Rick? You already- you already made it twenty-four hours, you’re half-way there! You’re not just- seriously- you’re not-” Morty sputtered, face flushed in anger as he threw himself at the taller man, reaching for the flask.  
  
“I’m a fucking _alcoholic_ , Mor-eugh-ty. Let me drink and die in peace, alright?” Rick sneered, nose wrinkled in disgust.  
  
“No,” Morty snapped, gripping Rick’s right wrist with one hand, wrangling the flask out of his death grip with the other. “Got it!” he cheered, victorious.  
  
“Morty, please,” Rick begged, icy blue eyes filled with desperation. “I _need_ it.”  
  
Morty bit his lip, feeling torn. He wanted Rick, _his_ Rick, to feel better. But still, he was so close. He couldn’t, no he _wouldn’t_ let him give up when they were so close to forty-eight hours. “No, Rick. You can... If you can just get through another... Twenty hours, you can drink whatever the fuck you want, okay? But you can’t, you just.. You can’t okay?” he retorted, painful tears prickling the corners of his eyes.  
  
Not bothering to wait for a response, he turned on his heel, to dispose of the liquor. “Ugh,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he dumped the alien liquor down the drain of the bathroom sink. The scent was nauseating, making his stomach turn. _He must be in a lot of pain to be willing to drink something this vile._  
  
The task completed, he returned to Rick’s bedroom, where Rick was once again lying in bed, curled up in a blanket. “I’m sorry,” Morty apologized, curling up behind Rick’s prone form. “I just... You’re so close and I can’t... You can do this, Rick. I _know_ you can.”  
  
Slowly, Rick unfurled himself from his blanket cocoon, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, facing away from Morty.  
  
"I-I couldn't keep it together. I-I. I thought she understood me. That she wanted the same things I did. But Beth was born and suddenly.... suddenly she started to despise everything that made me _me_. I was working... finishing my dissertation. Doing my research on the multiverse and it just.. it fell apart. The-the drinking didn’t help, either. Something had to give. I wanted to be the guy that she wanted me to be, I did. A good husband. A good father. But my work- I needed to see the rest of the universe so-so. A drink to forget. It dulled the pain of leaving them. Of leaving Beth."  
  
“You drink because you left mom when she was a kid?” Morty asked gently, taking a seat beside Rick on the edge of the bed.   
  
“I drink for a lot of reasons, Morty,” Rick sighed, staring down at the floor. “God. You don’t know what you do to me, Morty,” he lamented, burying his face in his hands.  
  
“W-what do I do to you, Rick?” Morty asked lowly, eyeing the older man intently.  
  
Rick shook his head, sighing. “S-sometimes I can-I can barely look at you, for fear I’ll-that I’ll lose control and... It’s wrong and I know I can’t but...”  
  
Morty’s eyes lit up in realization. “Rick,” he started, pulling Rick’s hands away from his face. “Rick.”  
  
“Wha-”  
  
Morty interrupted him by leaning forward, pressing his lips to Rick’s, a gentle hand resting on Rick’s kneecap.   
  
Instinctively, Rick kissed back, fingers entwining themselves in Morty’s curls. He sighed in satisfaction, blissfully indulging in his most desperate desires. He suppressed a smirk as a juvenile tongue darted across his lips, begging for entry. Rick gleefully obliged, tugging at Morty’s hair as he pulled the boy closer still, unable the resist the temptation of a willing Morty before him. The pair broke the kiss for only a moment, as frenzied fingers tore articles of clothing away, leaving the two shirtless.  
  
At last, the two pulled apart, panting, eyes darting nervously at one another. Rick froze, lips twitching nervously in terror as he replayed what had just transpired in his mind. “I’m-I’m so sorry, Morty,” he started, his heart beating painfully fast against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing from the pain. _Fuck. What did you just do?_  
  
“R-rick? C-can I?" Morty stammered, hand quivering as he reached to touch the pale skin before him.  
  
“Morty. You don't. You don't have to do this,” Rick croaked, wrapping his arms self-consciously around his chest.  
  
“I want it. God I've I've wanted you forever now,” Morty interjected, staring at Rick with unwavering adoration.  
  
“Wha-what about that little girl you're always prattling on about? You know... The... the one you like... Jessica?”  
  
Morty shrugged. “I-I thought maybe you'd...” he trailed off, cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink.   
  
“Trying to get me jealous, eh, Morty?” Rick croaked, unable to suppress a small grin.  
  
“Maybe... did it work?”  
  
Rick scooted closer to him, pressing languid kisses along Morty’s collarbone. “I-I did, did find it rather odd that you- that you went for what I'd always considered my type,” he noted, tongue darting across Morty’s adam’s apple.  
  
“Oh-oh yeah. You do have a thing for redheads don't you?” Morty noted, squirming as Rick’s tongue explored the sensitive skin of his neck.  
  
Rick shrugged. “Something like that.”  
  
“Do-do you want me, Rick?” Morty asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Rick sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It’s... It’s wrong, Morty. I'm-I'm your grandfather.”  
  
The pair sat in silence for a moment, Rick wringing his hands in his lap. “Besides... even if I weren’t... you're so young. I just. Even if I do want it? It's wrong. I'm sick, Morty. It's sick.”  
  
Morty shrugged, placing a hand on Rick's knee. “You - you know, Rick. That's - that's a very planetary mindset you have, there.”  
  
Rick glanced up, unable to contain a smirk. “Guess I've rubbed off on you a bit, huh, kid?”  
  
“I'm-I'm just saying... you you said it before. We're Rick and Morty. You and me. Rick and Morty, one hundred years. We we've got a special bond... and besides...” he trailed off, gently tracking circles on Rick’s thigh.  
  
Rick glanced at him, agitated by the silence. “Spit it out, Morty.”  
  
“Well um... well I've... you know during our adventures and all I've gotten to know some other Mortys and they... well some of them have.. you know... relationships with their Rick's soooo... it can't be that wrong then, right?”  
  
“You're more clever than you let on, Morty.”  
  
“Did you ever... am I...” Morty started, lips trembling as he struggled to find the words he wanted.  
  
“What are you asking, Morty?”  
  
“Have you ever... been with another Morty?”  
  
“No. It's only you... you're the only one I feel.... anything for.”  
  
Rick paled, doubling over as he began to dry heave, desperately gasping for breath.  
  
“You- you picked a hell of a time to confess your feelings for me, Morty,” Rick panted, still doubled over.   
  
Morty wrapped his arms around himself, Rick's voice sharper than he'd intended it to be. “You... you don't make it easy, you know. You've always got this wall up. Like you won't let anyone get close enough to see the real you.”  
  
“I told you....”   
  
“I know. But still... the only times you're ever nice to me, ever seem human is when you're blackout drunk and mostly spouting gibberish.”  
  
“Drunk words are sober thoughts, Morty. I... I hurt people. I could hurt you. And that... that I couldn't live with.”  
  
“What if I’m willing to take that chance?” Morty asked, entwining his fingers with Rick’s.  
  
“Morty,” Rick started, lifting his head to face the boy.  
  
“I-I want you, Rick. And I’ve tried... I’ve tried to make those thoughts go away, but I _can’t_. I don’t _want_ to. You... You are the _only_ thing that makes my life worth living, and I don’t... At least can we... Can we see where this goes? Please?” Morty begged, eyeing Rick hopefully.   
  
Rick exhaled, turning to face his grandson. “Morty,” he started, peering at the boy from heavy-lidded eyes. “I’ll... I want this as much as you do. I don’t... I don’t think I could stop, after that... After that kiss.”  
  
He paused a moment, sighing heavily. “But I’m withdrawing, my insides are in knots and my head is pounding so let’s just... let’s not think about it, for right now. There’s plenty of time to-to figure it all out. Just-just... come lie down with me, okay? Be a good boy for grandpa and come lie down with me,” he concluded, jerking his head in the direction of the bare stretch of mattress beside him.  
  
Morty nodded, conceding to Rick’s wishes. Rick smiled, pulling Morty closer to him. “Just-just so you know,” he whispered, stroking Morty’s honey-brown curls, “I... I do love you, kid.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick confesses some details about himself that Morty finds a bit difficult to swallow. Morty finds the unfortunate reality of Rick's condition difficult to come to terms with. t/w for mentions of past attempts at suicide/suicidal thoughts.

Morty stared at Rick’s prone form, unsure of whether or not to wake him. He had gotten out of bed hours before, eating a hurried breakfast with the family before scurrying back to Rick’s side. He frowned, taking note of the dribble of vomit crusted on Rick’s chin, as well as on the sheets. _He must have been vomiting in his sleep._ He watched as Rick’s chest rose and fell, grateful that he hadn’t choked on his own vomit. Beads of sweat lined Rick’s hairline, testament to the fact that he was, indeed, going through withdrawal. Morty patted the bottle of ativan he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet as soon as she’d left for work. Rick had already ingested the entire bottle he’d brought the night before, and would surely need another dosage as soon as he woke. Morty frowned as he saw Rick trembling, unnerved by the older man’s shaking hands. “R-Rick?” he asked, lightly shaking him by the shoulder.  
  
Rick blinked several times, eyeing Morty with a mixture of aggravation and confusion. “W-what?” he croaked, wincing as he brought a hand to his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.  
  
“You were um, I-I-I it’s time for your next dose of ativan,” Morty stammered, removing the bottle of pills from his pocket.  
  
Rick nodded, groaning as he pulled himself into an upright position.  
  
“How-how are you feeling?” Morty asked.  
  
Rick stare at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Give me the pills, Morty,” he said at last, holding his hand out.  
  
Morty obeyed, turning to look away as Rick emptied a handful of pills out of the bottle, chasing them down with several sips of water from the glass on his bedside table. It was painful, watching Rick consume far beyond the recommended dose of various medications. It reminded Morty of the truth about his grandfather, which he found rather difficult to stomach; Rick was an addict.  
  
“T-thanks for getting me these, M-morty. You’re-you’re a good, you’re the best, Morty,” Rick murmured, reaching out and stroking Morty’s hair with his long fingers.  
  
Morty sighed contently, enjoying the affection Rick was bestowing upon him. “A-anything for you, Rick.”  
  
“How long was I asleep for?” Rick queried, wiping the trail of vomit from his chin.  
  
“You-you slept pretty good, Rick. I-I woke you up around three and then again at six in the morning to give you another dose of ativan, but you-you went right back to sleep, both times. It’s-it’s ten-thirty now so... it’s good. Sleeping is probably the best thing you could do, right now,” Morty noted, wringing his hands anxiously.  
  
Rick nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest. He frowned, noticing the vomit on his sheets. “Guess I... Guess I was throwing up in my sleep, huh, Morty?”  
  
Morty nodded. “Yeah... But it’s okay.. Um.. We’re uh.. No one is home so we could uh, we could go downstairs, you know?”  
  
“Why bother?” Rick muttered, rolling his eyes. “Jerry’ll probably come home and try to-try to gloat that he was right about me. Fucking-fucking piece of shit.”  
  
“Dad won’t be home until dinner time,” Morty assured Rick, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We can get you settled on the couch, watch some TV. I can-I can wash your sheets and stuff. It’ll be-it’ll feel nice to come and lie down on clean sheets, don’t you think, Rick?”  
  
“You don’t have to do this, Morty,” Rick said quietly, avoiding Morty’s gaze. “I’m... I don’t deserve this.”  
  
“I _want_ to, Rick. You're-you, you... I want to help you. You shouldn’t have to-have to go through this alone.”  
  
“It’s pointless, Morty. You know I’m going to start drinking again. It’s just, I can’t-I-I-I I drink, Morty and I can’t-I won’t- I know that I won’t stop. I need it.”  
  
Morty frowned, processing Rick’s words. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t yelling at him. In fact, he didn’t sound like normal (if he could call him that) Rick, at all. He was somber, stating facts, a hint of what Morty almost thought to be shame in his tone.  
  
“Rick fucking Sanchez, another world-class drunk in a family of drunks. The cycle continues,” he muttered bitterly, shaking his head in disgust.  
  
“You haven’t-haven’t eaten in a while. Let’s-let’s go downstairs. I’ll, I’ll-I’ll make you something. Something easy to eat, something light on your stomach. And I’ll make tea. You should be, need to stay hydrated,” Morty stammered, desperate to pull Rick out of the depressive mood he appeared to be falling into.  
  
Rick shrugged, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Whatever.”

* * *

“Oh, hey Rick, look! Ball Fondlers is on!” Morty said cheerfully, turning his head to face Rick, who was lying down on the couch, head propped up with a pillow. “You, you wanna watch this?” he asked.  
  
Rick shrugged. “Sure, I guess so,” he muttered, curling up on his side, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He shivered a bit, goose flesh visible on his bare arms.  
  
“Are-are you cold?” Morty queried.  
  
Rick nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted, resting his chin on his knees.  
  
“Let me get you a blanket,” Morty offered, rising to his feet.  
  
He quickly retrieved a soft, velour throw from the love-seat, carefully draping the blanket over Rick. “How’s that?” he asked, electricity coursing through his veins as his fingers lingered over Rick’s for a moment longer than probably appropriate.  
  
“Better,” Rick said finally, hands trembling as he removed his appendages from Morty’s touch.  
  
“I’m going to wash your sheets, alright?” he said finally, heat creeping up his neck as Rick gazed at him, studying his features intently.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Morty clambered up the stairs, returning to Rick’s room. Quickly and efficiently, he stripped Rick’s bed, removing the sweat-soaked sheets, pillowcases, and mattress pad. After quickly sniffing the comforter, he determined that it would need to be washed, as well. Morty tossed the soiled linens into a laundry basket, gathering Rick’s dirty clothes, as well. Over the past thirty-odd hours, Rick had changed several times, due to profuse sweating and vomiting. _It’ll be nice for him to have some fresh, clean clothes to change into. I’ll have him take a shower once everything is washed. That’ll be nice, I think._ He carried the basket down the stairs, stopping for a minute to check in on Rick. To his relief, Rick was still lying on the couch, apparently engrossed in the episode of Ball Fondlers that was on. He smiled, thankful that his fear of Rick taking the opportunity of a few minutes unsupervised to raid the liquor supply in the kitchen was unfounded. Smiling contently, he continued to the laundry room, where he set to work loading the washing machine. Once his sheets and comforter were in the wash, Morty entered the kitchen, debating what to make Rick to eat. “It should probably be something light,” he mumbled to himself, frowning as he scanned the shelves of the pantry.  
  
He had initially planned on making soup, figuring that a liquid-based meal would be easiest on Rick’s stomach. However, he recalled that Rick was not particularly fond of soup, only reluctantly slurping it down when he was particularly under the weather. He crossed the room to the refrigerator, peering inside. His eyes settled on the carton of eggs, on the middle shelf. Morty smiled, inspiration striking him. _Eggs would be good. That shouldn’t be too hard on his system._ Morty had long ago recognized that scrambled eggs were a comfort food of Rick’s. His mother always seemed to prepare eggs for breakfast on mornings that Rick appeared to be feeling particularly low, and he’d lost count of the number of times he’d caught sight of his mother cooking scrambled eggs in the middle of the night in dead silence, Rick sitting at the kitchen table, head down, some bottle of liquor clutched in his right hand.  
  
Quickly, Morty gathered the required supplies, taking care not to burn the eggs in the frying pan as he prepared them. He gathered a tray and two plates from their respective cabinets, spooning egg onto both plates. He made a mental note to offer Rick the smaller portion, doubtful that in his condition, Rick would have much of an appetite, at all. Next, he retrieved two glasses, filling them with orange juice. He’d made sure Rick had a bottle of water to sip from when he’d first settled him on the couch, but the juice would be helpful in raising his sugar levels, he rationalized. Carefully, Morty carried the tray back to the living room, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “I-I made eggs, Rick. Hope, hope that’s okay,” Morty started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.  
  
Rick nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “T-thanks, Morty. Eggs are... Eggs would be great.”  
  
Slowly, Rick pulled himself off of the couch, stretching his lanky arms above his head for a moment before sitting back down. Morty froze, unable to draw his eyes away as he caught sight of a sliver of pale flesh exposed between the hem of Rick’s shirt and the waistband of his pajama pants. Once more, he felt heat creeping up his neck, certain his cheeks were flushed an embarrassing shade of pink. “You can sit down, you know,” Rick mumbled in between a bite of eggs, nodding to the empty spot beside him.  
  
“Yeah, of-of course,” Morty agreed, knees weak as he settled down on the couch beside Rick, reaching for his own plate.  
  
He took a bite, struggling to watch Rick, from the corner of his eye. _Be subtle, Morty._ To his delight, Rick was eating, taking careful bites of egg, followed by small sips of juice. _He’s such a neat eater._ It was something that had always amazed Morty, the paradox of Rick’s eating habits, versus every other aspect of him. Rick was messy, erratic, crude, and yet had impeccable table manners.  
  
“These are great eggs, Morty. Thank-thank you.”  
  
“Of course, Rick. I’m glad you liked them,” Morty beamed, elated by Rick’s praise.

* * *

”I’m-I’m just saying, Rick, if-if you can make it forty-eight hours, I don’t see why-why you couldn’t just, just keep it up, you know?” Morty mumbled, averting his eyes as Rick shot daggers at him from across the couch.  
  
“Why-why is it so important to you, Morty? I-I told you that, that I’m- that I _need_ to drink. I-I can’t just, I can’t just, just _stop_ drinking and everything will go away, Morty. It doesn’t-alcoholism doesn’t work that way, okay?” Rick growled, visibly agitated.  
  
“I-I just thought that-that, you-you acknowleged that you, that you’ve got a problem, Rick. I-I thought that maybe if you saw that-that you _can_ function sober, that-that maybe you would-would want to _stay_ sober,” Morty retorted, wrapping his arms nervously around his chest.  
  
“I-I I can’t Morty. Even-even if you wanted me to. Even if-even if I wanted to _try_. For _you_. I just-I just can’t. I have- I’ve done- I, I’ve seen too many, too many _things_ Morty, if I didn’t, didn’t block them out, I’d have, I’d have killed myself a long time ago, Morty.”  
  
Morty froze, taken aback by Rick’s statement. “You-you wouldn’t really do that, Rick... Would you?” he asked, lower lip quivering.  
  
“I’ve certainly tried to, before,” Rick mumbled, burying his face in his hands.  
  
“Rick,” Morty whispered softly, placing a comforting hand on Rick’s shoulder.  
  
Rick froze, body tensing up at the sense of Morty’s touch. Morty wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck, pressing his face against his shoulder. “Rick... I couldn’t, I couldn’t stand to lose you. Don’t... Why would you ever think that _that_ was the answer to _anything_?”  
  
“I’m not a good man, Morty,” Rick croaked, absently stroking Morty’s curly locks. “I, I have no disillusions about myself... I, I know what I’ve done. What I’m capable of.”  
  
“We all have our problems Rick, but, but... It’s not like you’re a monster-”  
  
Rick laughed cruelly, shaking his head, dismissing Morty’s comment. “You think- you think anyone who’s life is going great would drink, drink the shit that I drink? It’s pure ethanol, Morty. I don’t even, I, I it’s been _decades_ since I’ve drank to enjoy the taste. At this point I’d, I’d drink _gasoline_ if it would block everything out.”  
  
Morty remained quiet, hugging Rick tighter, still.  
  
“The-the only moments of _peace_ I have, _Morty_ , are when I black out. When everything is numb and I can’t feel anything.”  
  
A sob escaped Morty’s lips, hot tears wetting Rick’s shirt as Morty pressed his face against Rick’s chest. “Oh Morty,” Rick said calmly, stroking his grandson’s hair. “M-morty, don’t, don’t cry. It’s- I’m-I’m not worth getting this upset over. I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have told you all that. It’s, it’s not something that you should have to deal with.”  
  
“How-how could you think that way, Rick? Don’t-don’t you want _me_? What, what about _me_ , Rick? How do you think _I_ would feel if you, if were to-to-to-” Morty stuttered, unable to bring himself to say the horrible words that lingered on the tip of his tongue.  
  
“Morty-”  
  
“Every-every Morty needs a Rick. You’re, you’re my Rick. I-I love you. So. So. Much. Don’t-don’t leave me, don’t, I couldn’t. I’d-I’d die if you, if you...” Morty trailed off, dissolving into a fit of tears.  
  
“I love you, Morty,” Rick whispered, hugging the boy back. “I’m sorry that I-that I’m putting you through this, Morty. I should be- I should be better. For you. Should be, be a better man. Stronger. I’m so. I’m so weak. Pathetic. I don’t. I don’t deserve your kindness.”  
  
Morty pulled away, staring up at Rick through tear-rimmed eyes. “How can you... You don’t really think that, do you? That you’re, you’re undeserving of kindness? Undeserving of love and affection?”  
  
Rick shrugged. “Everyone I love has either ruined me or watched as I ruined them, instead. I’m-I’m _destructive_ , Morty.”  
  
Shakily, Morty approached Rick, holding his face between his hands. “I don’t care. I-I don’t _care_ what-whatever horrible things you’ve done. The-the worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I will stand by you through anything.”  
  
“W-why would you do that?” Rick asked, eyes locked with his own.  
  
“B-because I love you,” Morty replied, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Rick’s.  
  
Morty wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck as he deepened the kiss, hugging him tight. After several minutes, they parted, each panting for breath.  
  
Rick grabbed Morty’s hand, squeezing it tightly. He stared intently at him, brow furrowed as he opened his mouth to speak, only to press his lips shut once more. Morty squeezed his hand back, offering an encouraging nod in the hope that Rick would say whatever it was that he’d started to. Rick sighed, pulling his hand away, slumping down. Morty glanced at his watch, checking the time. “You-your sheets are probably dry by now. I should, I’ll go make your bed,” he started, backing away from his grandfather. “Are you-do you, do you mind being left alone for a bit?”  
  
Rick shook his head, lying back down, curled up, on the couch. “Sure,” he said hollowly.

* * *

Sighing, Morty retreated from the room, busying himself with removing the freshly dried sheets and comforter from the dryer. He moved Rick’s clothes to the dryer, turning it on, before grabbing the basket of freshened linens. He quickly scurried down the hall to the stairs, forcing himself to avoid looking into the living room, where Rick was. Once in Rick’s room, he slowly began to make the bed, needing the alone time to process what had just transpired downstairs. _He’s been opening up to me so much, I thought we were connecting, that he was finally letting me in and he just.. he just completely shut down. Why? What, what did I do? Was it something I said?_ As Morty carefully smoothed down the comforter, a loud banging noise coming from downstairs caught his attention. Nervous energy coursing through his veins, he sprinted down the stairs, finding Rick missing from the living room. “R-Rick?” he called out, frantically searching for any sign of where he might have gone.  
  
He paused, hearing the familiar sound of vomiting coming from the powder room in the hall. He approached the half-closed door, knocking tentatively. “H-hey Rick?” he asked.  
  
He heard the sound of vomiting, followed by a sharp gasp of breath. “W-what?” Rick retorted.  
  
“Y-you, are you okay?”  
  
_Silence, followed by the sound of retching._  
  
“Rick, can, can I come in?”  
  
_Silence._  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Morty pushed the door open the rest of the way, his heart sinking as he caught sight of Rick hunched over the toilet, a trail of vomit trickling from his lower lip, dribbling onto his shirt. “It-it’s only going to get worse, Morty,” Rick said gravely, spitting into the toilet.  
  
“W-what do you mean?”  
  
Rick leaned forward, heaving another mouthful of vomit into the bowl. “I-I, you know... I’m, I’m obviously detoxing, Morty. But... I... I.. If I don’t have a drink soon, Morty, I’m going to have DTs. It’s... It’s a matter of facts, Morty. They-they don’t usually start until after forty-eight hours without-without drinking.”  
  
“But-but you’ve been doing so good and, and we’ve been managing your symptoms and-”  
  
“I’ve-I’ve been an alcoholic for _years_ , Morty. Since long before you were _born_ , Morty. I, my body, I’m-I’m _dependent_ on it, Morty. If I don’t have a drink, I will, I’m going to have delirium tremens, Morty. Do you know, do you know what that is, Morty?”  
  
Morty froze, alarmed by the pained expression on Rick’s face. “If-if I don’t have-have a drink, Morty. If I stay-if if I stay sober, I’m gonna.. I’ll, I’ll hallucinate. All the-the symptoms I have now, they’ll be worse. I’ll probably-probably have seizures. I’ve-I’ve been having small-small ones in my sleep, the-the ativan has helped but-but Morty, it’s I _can’t_ , I can’t just stop drinking altogether, Morty,” Rick continued, eyeing Morty pleadingly.  
  
“R-rick,” Morty started, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.  
  
“I’m sorry, Morty. I-I I can’t do it. I know you-I know you _want_ , probably _want_ me to, to stop drinking, to-to not be this way but... But I _can’t_ Morty. I-I could die. I-I said I’d get through forty-eight hours but, but as soon as that’s over, I have to, I need. I need a drink,” he concluded, hanging his head in shame.  
  
“I’m sorry, Morty. I’m-I’m a disappointment.”  
  
Morty shook his head, choking back a sob. “R-rick. I- I don’t, don’t think about it. Let’s-let’s just focus on getting you through the next,” he paused, glancing at his watch, “next seven hours, okay?”  
  
Rick nodded, averting his eyes from Morty’s gaze.  
  
“Hey,” Morty said softly, rubbing Rick’s back. “Let’s-let’s get you upstairs. We can take a shower, get you cleaned up some. Then we can go lie down. You’ll-you’ll feel better after a hot shower. Okay?”  
  
Rick nodded, allowing Morty to help him to his feet. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice trembling. “Yeah, okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually updated! Sorry in advance if this isn't great. I've been a tad overwhelmed with life lately. I haven't decided how I should end this... whether Rick should succumb to drinking and have that be that, or if I should explore the idea of Rick actively trying to get sober. Any thoughts or suggestions in regard to this would be invaluable to me.

Rick tossed fitfully in bed, shivering despite the heat radiating from his core. _Fucking detox. Jesus fucking Christ, I just want it to be over._  
  
Morty had laid with him for about an hour before Rick had started hurling insults his way, in an effort to drive the teen away. _It’s better if he isn’t here. I can’t deal with the guilt._  
  
Rick sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t been able to push Morty’s naive, hopeful words from his brain. _It’s foolish. I can’t... I can’t just stop drinking. God damn it, Morty. I-I’ll only let you down. Better to save you the disappointment._  
  
Admittedly, he _could_ try. The thought had crossed Rick’s mind on more than one occasion. However, his inner skeptic couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a lost cause. _You’re a fucking alcoholic, Sanchez. You were born to be a drunk and you’ll die one. Accept it. Don’t think about it. Have a fucking drink._ He glanced at the clock on his dresser. Another four hours until he could have a drink.  
  
_What is it that you’re really afraid of_ , a small voice in his head pressed, Rick frowned, biting his chapped lips. _Are you afraid of having to face all of the shameful, disgusting things that you’ve done? Afraid to deal with the guilt of your actions? Afraid to face everything you’ve hidden from behind your shield of constant inebriation?_ “Shut up,” Rick mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. _Obviously that’s why._

* * *

“R-rick?” Morty asked softly, rapping twice on Rick’s bedroom door.  
  
“What?” a hollow voice rang out.  
  
“Can, can I come in?”  
  
_Silence._  
  
Morty stood expectantly before the door, waiting patiently.  
  
At least, Rick called out gruffly, “Fine, whatever.”  
  
Gingerly, Morty turned the doorknob, letting himself into the room. “How’re you feeling?” he asked, eyeing Rick warily.  
  
Rick remained silent, shooting Morty a disdainful look.  
  
“Do, do you want more ativan? There’s only a few- a few more hours to go, but you could sleep it out, y’know, if you wanted to-”  
  
“No. It’s fine,” Rick interrupted, shaking his head.  
  
“Do you mind if I sit here with you?” Morty asked quietly.  
  
Rick shrugged. “Whatever,” he murmured, rolling over on his side, turning his back to Morty.  
  
Morty observed his grandfather’s prone form for several minutes, gathering the courage necessary to ask what he desperately needed to know. “Hey, R-Rick?”  
  
“What, Morty?” Rick snapped.  
  
“You were um, you were young when you started drinking, huh?” Morty stammered, digging his fingernails into his palms as he braced himself for what he was sure would be a nasty reply.  
  
“Yeah, Morty,” Rick muttered bitterly. “I was young.”  
  
“How old were you?”  
  
Rick sighed, exasperated. “I don’t, I don’t _remember_ , Morty. Why? Are you-are you writing my memoir or something?”  
  
“I was just wondering,” Morty said lowly, shoulders slumped.  
  
“You don’t, you don’t remember the first time you drank or anything?” he asked.  
  
He watched as Rick’s shoulders tensed up. “Yeah... Yeah I remember that, Morty,” Rick muttered, a tense, angry tone to his voice.  
  
“Yeah?” Morty pressed.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick snapped, turning to face Morty. “You want to know about the first time I drank, M-Morty? You want to know _why_ I got drunk for the first time? You want to know why?” he hissed, his voice low, dangerous.  
  
“W-why?” Morty asked, edging away from his grandfather.  
  
“My old man fractured my jaw because I got in his way, _Morty_. He was drunk and pissed off and I got in the way. I got drunk to dull the pain. You happy now?” Rick snapped, his eyes narrowed to slits.  
  
“Is that what you wanted to hear, Morty? I’m a fucking drunk just like every other fucking member of the Sanchez family. I grew up to be just like dear old dad; a rotten disappointment. Though at least I never took a swing at _my_ kid.”  
  
“R-Rick,” Morty started, placing a gentle hand on Rick’s arm.  
  
“Y-you’re not a disappointment, Rick.”  
  
_Silence._  
  
“Rick, _please_. I-I love you and I think you’re... You’re amazing, and I-”  
  
“Leave me alone, Morty,” Rick mumbled, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t... I told you I have a lot... There’s a lot of things that are better-better left unsaid. Better kept bottled up and out of the way.”  
  
“You drink to keep things like that buried inside you,” Morty noted, stroking Rick’s arm gently.  
  
“No fucking shit, _Morty_.”  
  
“Y-you don’t have to live like this, you know,” Morty offered, eyeing Rick hopefully.  
  
Rick shook his head viciously, eyeing Morty with contempt. “As if you know _anything_ about anything, Morty.”  
  
“What could it be that’s so bad that you’d rather slowly kill yourself with _that_ horrible stuff than face it?” Morty pressed, meeting Rick’s cold stare.  
  
Rick glared at him, knuckles white as he clenched his fists, lips curled into a snarl. “You have no _fucking_ idea.”  
  
“Rick-”  
  
“Don’t ‘ _Rick_ ’ me, kid. I’m a monster, and it’s better you get used to that fact. Don’t-don’t kid yourself, Morty. I’m not... I know what I am. You-you’d be better off without me. I’m not... I’m no good for anyone. For you. Your mom. Even myself,” Rick muttered gruffly. “Everything I touch, Morty... _Everything_... I... I ruin it. I’ll ruin you, if you let me.”  
  
Rick paused, a pained expression on his face. “I-I I _don’t_ want that, Morty. I don’t want- you’re the last person in the world that I want to-want to hurt but, but I know I’ll do it, anyway. I hurt people. I ruin whatever good is inside them. It’s just what I do, Morty. It’s only a matter of time until I... God, you’re the only good thing that’s ever come from my shitty genes and I... I’ll ruin you. I’ve already probably ruined you, Morty.”  
  
“You’re gonna... You’re gonna start drinking again, aren’t you? As much... As much as you always have?” Morty whispered, defeated.  
  
Rick nodded. “Yeah, I am, Mort. I’m... I’m sorry I can’t be the-the man you _wish_ I was.”  
  
“I could...” Morty trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish his sentence. _I could take the place of the drinking, if you’d let me._  
  
“You don’t want to get messed up with me, Morty. I’m not... Even if I _do_... And I know that _you_...” Rick shook his head, a small frown on his lips. “You deserve better than me, Morty. Someone who could give you more than I have to offer.” _I’ll just drag you down with me_ , he silently added, hating himself for pushing Morty away. _It’s for the best, Sanchez. He’s young. He’ll move on. Find someone who isn’t a fucked up mess. Someone who isn’t you. You sick fuck._  
  
Morty nodded, rising to his feet. “You’ve got another... Two hours,” he observed, limbs numb as he attempted to choke back tears that threatened to consume him at any moment. “I’ll um... I guess I’ll see you around.”

* * *

Rick stared wordlessly at the clock, anxiously waiting for the last agonizing minute to pass. “Yes!” he cried out as the time flickered to seven pm on the digital clock, raising a victorious fist in the air.  
  
Grinning, he rose to his feet, scrambling to get dressed. Once adequately clothed, he rushed down the stairs, eager to rub his win in Jerry’s face. He found his son-in-law in the kitchen, reading the paper. “Told you I’d win the bet, _idiot_ ,” he scoffed, rapping his fingers on the kitchen table.  
  
“Yeah, you win, Rick,” Jerry grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Congratulations.”  
  
“Thank youuuuuu,” he sneered, making a beeline for the fridge.  
  
Without hesitation, he grabbed a beer, cracking the tab open and taking a long pull from the can.  
  
_Oh thank god_ , he thought to himself, savoring the cool liquid pouring down his throat. He downed the can in less than three gulps, crushing the aluminum with his fist. He immediately grabbed another can, quickly downing that as well. He retreated to the garage, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.  
  
“I’ll be in the garage,” he called out to no one in particular, grateful that his head at last felt clearer than it had in the past two days.  
  
He settled down at his work bench, picking up where he’d left off on his latest project. He smiled as his hands worked quickly and efficiently, marveling at how quickly he’d regained his basic motor functions. _Dear god, thank you alcohol, the cause of and solution to all of my problems_. He reached for the bottle of whiskey, taking a deep pull. _I needed this._  
  
He drank hungrily from the bottle, draining the contents with half a dozen swigs. He glanced at a snapshot taped to his desk, unable to pry his eyes away. _Morty_. He frowned, thinking of the conversations that had transpired with him over the past forty-eight hours. _You kissed him. And you loved every second of it. You kissed your fucking grandson that you’re attracted to, you sick fuck-_ Rick’s hands shook as he reached for an unopened bottle, struggling to pry off the lid. “There’s not enough booze in the world to make me forget about that,” he sighed, taking a long sip from the bottle. _Not that I won’t try._

* * *

Morty knocked gently on the door to the garage before entering, bracing himself for the worst. _It’s only been a few hours, I doubt he could have drank enough to be passed out in a pool of his own vomit, yet_. “Hey, hey Rick?” he called out, carefully shutting the door behind him.  
  
“M-morty,” Rick slurred, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m, I’m working on a new, a new invention Mor-eugh-ty,” he continued, smiling serenely.  
  
“That’s great, Rick,” Morty offered, forcing a smile. He winced at the sight of the dozen or so discarded bottles lying at Rick’s feet. _Don’t think about it. He told you he... You knew that this was inevitable._  
  
“You look like you’re feeling better,” Morty offered, choking back a mouthful of vomit as he approached his grandfather, the scent of liquor overwhelming. _He reeks of booze. It’s oozing out of his pores._  
  
“Yeah,” Rick agreed, meeting Morty’s eye and shooting him a pained, knowing look. _Don’t talk about it. I told you I needed this._  
  
Morty nodded, blinking back tears that threatened to cascade down his cheeks. _God fucking damn it, Rick. Even if I know you need it, doesn’t mean I have to like it._  
  
“C’mere Morty,” Rick mumbled, wrapping a lanky arm around Morty’s waist and pulling him closer to him. “My Morty. Rick and Morty forever and ever,” Rick muttered, still holding Morty flush to him.  
  
“You wanna, we could-could go on an adventure, Mor-eugh-ty,” Rick sputtered, vomit dribbling down his chin.  
  
“Aw jeeze, Rick. Come on, man!” Morty snapped, pulling away from Rick’s grasp. “You-you got vomit on me, man. That’s disgusting!”  
  
“Whatever, Morty,” Rick sneered, tilting his head back to take a swig from his trusty silver flask.  
  
Morty winced from the scent of the alien liquor. _God that smells foul, how can you drink that?_  
  
“No one’s forcing you to stay here, Morty,” Rick said coldly, staring him down. “If you- if you don’t want to watch, don’t look.”  
  
Wordlessly, Morty nodded, turning his back to his grandfather. _Fine. I won’t. Drink yourself to death, I don’t care, I-_  
  
“Later!” Rick called out, tossing an empty bottle at the wall, for emphasis.  
  
Morty froze for a moment, tempted to turn around, to beg Rick to stop. _Fuck you, Rick. I tried. Fuck... Fuck you. If this is how you, how you want to live... I don’t care._ Resigned, he exited the garage, slamming the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one day it won't take me two weeks to get around to updating. Things are finally starting to calm down in my chaotic life, so maybe that will be a reality one day. I can't decide whether or not I should write some gratuitous Rick/Morty sinful sex scenes, or just insinuate they're occurring. Thoughts, anyone? Considering I haven't written true honest to god smut since about 2005, I'm semi-curious to see what my 'mature' self would be able to come up with... but on the other hand, I'm not quite sure I want to venture down that rabbit hole, just yet. Any comments and suggestions are warmly welcome.

Rick woke to an all too familiar pounding in his head as sunlight streamed into the garage, courtesy of the broken blinds hanging in the single window. Rick groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’d passed out in the garage after downing more liquor than he could possibly hope to remember. Gritting his teeth, he fumbled through his desk drawer for his stash of painkillers, desperate for relief. He dry swallowed four, choking on the bitter chalky aftertaste of the pills. He rose slowly to his feet, stretching his arms above his head to loosen his stiffened muscles. “What the fuck did I do?” he muttered to himself, catching sight of shattered glass littering the floor of the garage.  
  
Upon further inspection, he determined that the glass was of varying colors; he must have thrown several bottles against the floor the night prior. Rick shrugged, nonplussed by this realization; fits of rage were common for him. Especially when heavily intoxicated. He glanced down at his hands, to check for any signs of damage. _Nope_. Apparently he hadn’t been enraged enough to inflict any pain upon himself. _Guess I can chalk that up as a win_. He couldn’t recall why he’d decided to smash bottles against the wall as he drank himself into oblivion, but it hadn’t been anything serious enough for him to decide to say, punch a concrete wall until he broke his hand. Sighing, he made his way into the house, in search of coffee. With slightly trembling hands, he poured himself a mug of coffee. He took a sip, reached into his lab coat pocket, and poured a fair measure from his flask into the mug. He took another sip, a thin smile curling up his lips as his tremors ceased. _Nothing a little eye-opener can’t fix_. Rick glanced at the clock on the wall, taking note of the time. _10:30_. “Where the hell is Morty?” he muttered to himself, frowning.  
  
“Um, he’s at _school_ ,” Jerry retorted, entering the kitchen. “Like he should be.”  
  
Rick rolled his eyes. “Thanks for stating the obvious, _Jerry_.”  
  
Rick took a deep sip from his mug, frowning. The fact that Morty hadn’t come in to check on him, to say goodbye before leaving for school was unsettling. Usually, on nights that he passed out in the garage, working hard on a new project or drinking heavily, or both, Morty would wake him in the early hours of the morning, ushering him into the house and up to bed. _He must be mad at me._  
  
“Whatever, _Jerry_. I have-I have work to do in the garage. Have fun being unemployed,” Rick muttered, wandering back towards the garage.  
  
He locked the door behind him, settling down at his desk. He sipped his mug of coffee, carefully scanning over the various blueprints and notes for inventions that littered his desk. Once finished his coffee, he reached for the bottle of alien liquor on the desk, unscrewing the cap with his teeth. He took a gulp, barely registering the harsh burn as the liquid poured down his throat. As a wave of warmth coursed through his core, he drummed his fingers against his desk, thinking. _Morty. Morty._ Rick wasn’t completely clueless; he understood why Morty was angry at him. “I told you, kid. I told you I couldn’t- that I’d only start drinking again,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.  
  
He took another swig from the bottle, sloshing a bit onto himself in the process. Hot tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he thought of his grandson, bright-eyed and hopeful as he’d cared for him only the day before, offering his innocent, optimistic encouragement to stop drinking altogether. _I can’t do it. Even if I wanted to_. Still, a nagging voice in the back of his mind persisted; _you could try to quit_. Rick sighed heavily, reaching once more for the bottle of liquor. He was torn. On the one hand, part of him desperately needed the comfort and security the bottle provided him. On the other, there was Morty. Sweet, innocent Morty, who brought joy to Rick’s life that he’d never imagined he’d ever experience. It was not so much the thought of liquor never passing his lips again that terrified Rick; rather, it was the fear of failure, the fear of disappointing Morty by his inability to get and stay sober.  
  
_Still, you could try. You’re a genius. If you wanted to get sober, you could get sober_. Rick shook his head furiously, reaching for his screwdriver. He turned his attention to a half-finished contraption lying before him, desperate for a distraction from his own thoughts.

* * *

Morty sighed, resting his head on his desk. In less than an hour, he would have to go home and face _him_. His stomach coiled up in knots as he thought of facing Rick later that afternoon. He had spent most of his classes thinking about how he was going to handle seeing Rick and interacting with him, since his decision the night before to let him continue his self-destruction. It pained Morty more than he cared to admit, seeing Rick so defeated, so willing to numb himself with his poisons. He had left the house in a fury that morning, teeming with anger at Rick for so many different reasons. For forcing Morty’s hand, admitting his crush on his grandfather. For dangling the prospect of reciprocated feelings, only to be shoved away. For not loving Morty enough to give up the drinking for _him_. Morty squeezed his eyes shut, willing his thoughts to stop racing. Deep down, he knew that it wasn’t _entirely_ Rick’s fault that he’d immediately started drinking. He understood that Rick was an addict, that physical withdrawal from substances was draining and painful. He had seen the regretful look in Rick’s eyes that night in the garage, _understood_ that to some degree, Rick _didn’t_ want to continue to live that way. Still, it was easier to focus his anger and blame on Rick. Easier to swallow the idea that his selfish, egotistical grandfather didn’t want to face his problems than to cope with the notion that he was the one who had walked away. _He told you to leave if you didn’t want to see him that way. He told you to leave, so you did..._ Morty shook his head. _Who are you kidding? You left because it hurt to watch. Instead of being strong and standing your ground_. Part of him had wanted to scream at Rick, hurl insults at him, demand that he put the bottle down and check himself into a facility where he could safely detox off of alcohol. Demand that Rick choose: the booze or him. But Morty had folded, ran away for fear of the dangerous possibility that if push came to shove, Rick would choose drinking over him. A thought Morty doubted he’d be able to bear.  
  
A vibration in his right pocket caught Morty’s attention. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the name of the caller. _Summer_. Morty rose to his feet, quietly exiting the classroom. The teacher paid no mind; in the past three years, it seemed that the entire staff had become immune to Morty’s frequent absences and leaving in the middle of classes. Morty secretly thought that they preferred Morty slipping out on his own accord to Rick’s drunken interruptions. Once safely in the hallway, he answered the phone, leaning against a row of lockers. “Hey,” he greeted his sister, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “Sorry, I was in class.”  
  
“I’m surprised you’re in school today,” Summer noted, her voice tinny through his phone’s speaker. _Stupid lousy reception._  
  
“Why-why’s that?”  
  
“I heard about the bet Rick and Dad made. I figured you’d have wanted to stay home to clean up whatever mess Rick made. Mom said he went on a bender after the 48 hours was up.”  
  
Morty swallowed, hard. “Y-yeah... I don’t know. I kind of needed a break after-after-”  
  
“Was it bad, seeing him like that?”  
  
“Like what?” Morty frowned.  
  
“Withdrawing. Mom said you were like, taking care of him.”  
  
“Yeah... I don’t know, Summer. He’s a fucking alcoholic. It’s a miracle he was even able to go 48 hours without a drink.”  
  
“You’re angry at him.”  
  
“What, I didn’t-”  
  
“Stop, Morty. You know that I know you better than anyone. Except Rick. You think I didn’t notice all those times I saw you online, looking up alcoholism treatment programs? You wanted him to stop drinking for good. And you’re angry that he didn’t.”  
  
“Can you blame me, Summer? I-I he’s my only friend and he’s an asshole. Esp-especially when he’s drinking. Is it so wrong to want to see your only friend, your-your grandfather happy and healthy?”  
  
“Being angry at him and avoiding him isn’t going to help him, Morty.”  
  
“I know,” Morty agreed, scuffing the ground with his shoe.  
  
“I know you’re not happy about his decision to start drinking again, but that doesn’t mean you should just give up. He needs you Morty, more than you realize. Hell, more than he probably realizes. If you want him to stop drinking, you need to keep encouraging him. It might take a while, but maybe something will click and he’ll actually, you know, _want_ to give it a shot.”  
  
“I guess,” Morty sighed. “I’ll-I’ll give it a shot, I guess.”  
  
The two exchanged goodbyes, Morty staring dejectedly down at the screen of his phone. Though he knew his sister was right, some of her words were disconcerting. _Does she know that I have a major crush on Rick?_ Part of him had always thought that his sister had caught drift of his feelings for Rick, though she’d never insinuated such knowledge.  
  
Morty jumped, startled by the ringing of the bell, signaling the end of the school day. Morty shuffled through the crowd as teens emerged from the surrounding classrooms, filling the narrow hallway. As he made his way towards the front doors, his mind shifted back to his original thought of how he was going to face Rick when he got home. _Summer is right, I need to be supportive. I can’t just pout and ignore him._ Desperate to prolong the inevitable, he elected to walk home instead of taking the bus, deciding that a long walk would provide the perfect opportunity to decide what exactly he would say to Rick, when he saw him.

* * *

“H-hey Rick.”  
  
Rick glanced up from the project before him, eyes darting towards the doorway to the house, where Morty stood.  
  
“Hey,” he replied, careful to keep his voice monotonous.  
  
He observed Morty for a moment, who stood nervously in the doorway, arms wrapped around his chest, biting his lower lip. _He’s nervous. You’re making him nervous._ Rick shrugged, turning his back to the boy, resuming his tinkering.  
  
“How-how’s your invention coming?” Morty asked, slowly approaching him.  
  
“Fine,” Rick replied, gripping the soldering iron in his hand tighter.  
  
“S-sorry I didn’t come-come say goodbye this morning,” the boy stammered, his breath hot on the back of Rick’s neck. “I was uh- I was running late.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
Rick resumed wiring his invention, desperately trying to ignore the lingering heat of Morty’s breath against his exposed flesh. _God fucking damn it, Morty. You know what you do to me_. Rick's initial instinct was to reach for his flask, but he decided against it. _At least he’s talking to you. Don’t send him running again_. “Y-you got something to say, Morty?” he asked, setting his tools down with trembling hands.  
  
“Um... Ummm...”  
  
Rick turned to face him, his lips dangerously close to Morty’s. “You-you shouldn’t stammer like that, Morty, when-when someone asks you what you’re lurking for. _Nottttt_ very charismatic.”  
  
Morty froze, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “I-I just wanted- I-”  
  
“What, Morty?” Rick pressed, unable to pull his gaze from Morty’s full pink lips, which looked so kissable and...  
  
Rick’s eyes widened, taken aback as Morty leaned forward, pressing his lips to Rick’s. He recovered after a second, pulling Morty closer, long fingers tangling themselves into Morty’s honey brown curls. Rick kissed him hungrily, grateful for the absence of uncomfortable questions or statements or whatever Morty had initially come into the garage for.  
  
Morty pulled away, gasping lightly for breath, his lips swollen. He stared at Rick lustfully, subtly palming the crotch of his jeans. “I thought you were mad at me,” Rick noted, staring intently at Morty’s growing erection.  
  
“I was,” Morty confessed. “But...”  
  
“Well?” Rick smirked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Is Dad home?” Morty asked, biting down on his lip once more.  
  
“I don’t know,” Rick replied, shrugging off his lab coat. “Why?”  
  
“You know why.”  
  
Rick laughed, rising to his feet. “What are you suggesting, Morty?”  
  
“I _want_ you, Rick. You-you promised me you would... That we could...” he trailed off tugging needfully at his arm.  
  
“Say it, Morty,” Rick ordered, fiddling with his belt buckle.  
  
“I-I want you to, to _fuck_ me, Rick,” Morty said quietly, gazing hopefully into his eyes.  
  
“I thought- thought you were mad at me, Morty,” Rick teased, pulling off his shirt, leaving him in his white wife-beater tank.  
  
“You were mad that I-that I started drinking again, _weren’t_ you?” he continued, tugging Morty’s shirt off over his head.  
  
“Y-yeah,” Morty agreed hesitantly, kicking off his sneakers.  
  
“And you still want to do this?” Rick asked, his tone quizzical.  
  
“Y-yeah, why-why wouldn’t I?”  
  
Rick gave him a pointed look, crossing his arms against his chest.  
  
“I-I I want you to stop, I’d like for you to stop drinking but, but I still- it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I still want you. Badly.”  
  
Morty swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, but pausing.  
  
“What is it, Morty?”  
  
“Y’know I, I could... I could make you forget all about drinking,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If-if you let me I could, I could take the place of the booze. Make you feel better.”  
  
“Is that so?” Rick smirked.  
  
Morty nodded weakly. “A-anything you needed, Rick. I-I could give it to you.”  
  
Rick smiled, gently running his hand through Morty’s unruly curls. “Let-let’s test that theory, shall we?” he asked, grinning salaciously.  
  
Morty nodded, trembling with excitement. “O-okay. Should-should we-”  
  
“Go lock the door. The garage is soundproofed. I wanna-I wanna rail you against- rail you with you bent over my work bench, Morty.”  
  
Morty nodded eagerly. “O-okay, Rick.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. That's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance if this is horrible. I decided to give it a whirl and attempt to write some Rick/Morty smut... this is what came of that effort. Please be kind. I mean, tell me if it sucks, so I know to just imply sex in future chapters. I'll just be over here, dying from anxiety over whether or not this is any good.

Rick observed, hand down the front of his pants, as Morty slowly undressed, visibly uncomfortable with the attention Rick was giving him.  
  
“Come on, man. Do you- do you really have to make it so awkward, Rick?” Morty stammered, cheeks red from embarrassment.  
  
“I thought you said that you- that you could make me forget, could take the place of the drinking, Morty. Don’t you, don’t you want to-want to make me feel better?” Rick smirked, slowly stroking himself as Morty fidgeted in his underwear, arms folded against his chest.  
  
“You _would_ get off on-on embarrassing people,” Morty huffed, at last pulling down his boxer brief, leaving him naked save for a pair of socks.  
  
“It isn’t about that, Morty,” Rick growled, frowning.   
  
He reached for his flask off of his work bench, but paused, catching sight of Morty’s disappointed look from the corner of his eye. Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I-I just wanted to look at you, Morty. _Really_ see you. You-you look _good_ , you know?” he muttered, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he carefully examined every square inch of Morty’s bare flesh.  
  
“Come here,” he ordered, beckoning the younger forward with a single finger.  
  
Morty obeyed, stopping a few inches away from Rick. “So?” he asked, arms still folded loosely against his chest.  
  
“Have you ever been with a man, Morty?” Rick asked, reaching forward to place a callused hand on Morty’s hip. Rick hummed lightly under his breath; Morty’s skin felt like velvet, too soft, too pure.  
  
“N-no,” Morty admitted, cheeks flushing with embarrassment once more.  
  
Rick smiled salaciously. _Perfect. A virgin_. “Don’t-don’t worry, Morty. I’m gonna take real good, I’ll be- be real gentle, babe-baby.”  
  
Morty nodded, inching closer to Rick. “P-promise?” he asked, craning his neck upward to press a kiss against Rick’s lips.  
  
“Yeah... We’re gonna take it _nice_ and _slowwww_ ,” Rick drawled, pulling Morty closer, hungrily kissing the boy.   
  
The pair pulled apart, Rick furiously tearing off his wife beater. He removed his belt, unbuttoning his pants. “You wanna go ahead and lean against the work bench, Morty,” Rick instructed, pointing towards his desk.  
  
“Won’t that be painful?” Morty asked, apprehensive.  
  
“Leverage, Morty. You’re you’re new to this. It’ll be better, easier for you to handle, having something to-to hold onto. Trust me, you’re gonna, gonna be glad you’re bent over that desk when I’m fucking your brains out,” Rick continued, nodding towards the desk.  
  
Morty obeyed, bending over the desk. “Like this?” he asked, buttocks clenched tightly as his hips shimmied slightly while he stood in place.  
  
“Yeah, but you want to relax, Morty,” Rick said softly, striding towards the boy. Gently, he cupped a single cheek with one hand, reveling in how soft and warm it felt. “Mmm, you’re so, so beautiful Morty. I want- I could _devour_ you,” he whispered, squeezing the handful of flesh in his hand.   
  
A guttural groan escaped Morty’s lips as he bucked his hips backward, attempting to grind himself against Rick. “You like that, Morty?” Rick cooed, running his fingers through Morty’s curls. “You like when I touch you like this?” he asked, squeezing the other cheek.  
  
“Mhmm,” Morty affirmed, bucking back once more.   
  
Rick patted Morty’s behind firmly, grinning wildly. “Let me get something real quick, okay?” he said softly, grabbing his lab coat from off of the floor.   
  
After a moment of rummaging, he dropped the coat to the floor, a tube of lubricant in hand. He strode back towards Morty, gently tracing the curve of his bottom with his free hand. “I’m gonna, gonna get you loosened up for me, Morty, okay?” he whispered, stroking Morty’s pale skin reassuringly.   
  
“O-okay,” Morty stuttered, cheeks clenching tightly as Rick slid a lube-slicked finger down Morty’s crack.  
  
“You gotta relax, babe-baby, okay? I-I can’t make you feel good if you don’t-don’t relax,” Rick coaxed him, gently massaging Morty’s puckering hole with his right index finger.   
  
Morty whimpered in response, his body twitching nervously from the close contact.  
  
“Relax,” Rick instructed, lightly trailing kisses down Morty’s spine as he slowly inserted his finger into Morty, taking great care to ensure minimal discomfort.   
  
methodically, Rick applied more lubricant, pressing his digit further into Morty as he whispered into Morty’s ear, sharing with him his filthiest fantasies, intermittently pressing kisses along his neck, his shoulder blades, any bare flesh Rick could get his lips on.  
  
“When I’ve got you better-more, more experience, _Morty_ ,” Rick breathed, slowly inserting a second finger into Morty’s anus, “I wanna, I want you to be my good little _sub_ , Morty. Would you like that? Do you want to be grandpa’s good boy? Let me tie your delicious little body up? Maybe _spank_ you? Would you like that?” Rick continued, his breath hot on Morty’s ear.   
  
“Y-yeah, I-oooh, I want,” Morty panted, thrusting his bottom back as Rick’s fingers scissored inside him, spreading him wider.  
  
“Does that hurt?” Rick asked gently, leaning forward, to kiss Morty’s temple.  
  
“Nnng, no, feels good,” Morty breathed, writhing in pleasure.   
  
“Want me to, to add another finger?”   
  
“I want _you_ now, don’t, come on you’re killing me,” Morty stammered, shaking his head jerkily. “I wanna-wanna come from you, not-nggg not your fingers.”  
  
“Patience, Morty,” Rick laughed, inserting another lube-soaked finger.   
  
Morty squirmed beneath him, mewling in pleasure.  
  
“You’re so tight, Morty,” Rick whispered breathily, pausing to press light kisses down Morty’s back. “I-I, you’re-you’re gonna feel so good, Morty. So tight and warm around my cock.”  
  
Morty bucked towards Rick once more, throwing his head back as a moan escaped his lips. “C’come on, Rick. Stop teasing me,” he begged.  
  
“Are you sure you’re ready?”  
  
“Mhmm,” Morty hummed.  
  
“Okay,” Rick agreed, slowly removing his fingers from Morty.  
  
Anxiously, Rick tore down his pants and boxers, kicking them aside. He liberally poured lubricant in his hand, slowly pumping his fully erect member, taking care to coat it thoroughly. Once satisfied with his handiwork, he pressed the tip against Morty’s entrance, teasing it lightly. “Okay, Morty,” he said softly, stroking himself lightly in nervous anticipation. “I want you to take a breath, and exhale slowly for me. On the count of three, okay? One, two, three...”  
  
Slowly, Rick entered him, painstakingly pushing forward more centimeters at a time, to allow Morty time to adjust to his length and girth. “You okay, Morty?” he asked, fingertips trailing across Morty’s hip.   
  
“Mhmmmm,” Morty agreed, through gritted teeth.   
  
“Do you want- do you want more of your grandpa’s cock, Morty?”  
  
“P-please,” Morty begged, writhing beneath him on the desk.  
  
Slowly, Rick inched forward, filling Morty completely with his length. “That feel good?” he asked.  
  
Morty mumbled an affirmation. Rick smiled blissfully, overwhelmed by the warm sensation of Morty surrounding his cock. “God you’re so-so tight, Morty. So hot. You-you like this, feeling me inside you?”  
  
“Mhmmm.”  
  
Carefully, Rick pulled out, slowly but steadily increasing his pace as he thrust inside him, fingers pulling at Morty’s curls with one hand while he held him steady in place with the other. “Fuck, Morty,” he groaned, tossing his head back as a wave of pleasure crashed over him, leaving Rick weak in the knees. “So tight, so good, baby,” he growled, gripping Morty’s hair tighter.  
  
“Rick, I’m gonna-I’m gonnna-”  
  
“Cum for me, Morty. Cum for grandpa,” Rick coaxed, thrusting harder still into Morty, feeling the familiar heat in the pit of his stomach, warning that his orgasm was nearing.   
  
Morty breathily called out Rick’s name, bucking his hips back against Rick as he came, warm milky liquid dripping down the pairs’ legs.   
  
“Fuck,” Rick cursed, closing his eyes as he pumped harder into Morty once more, throwing his head back as he came, hard. “Morty!”  
  
Breathing heavily, Rick pulled out of him, legs shaky as he helped the boy to his feet. “S-so,” he panted, hands snaked around Morty’s waist, pulling him into an embrace, “how-how was it for you?”  
  
“S-so so good,” Morty stammered, hugging Rick close. “Did-did I l-live up to the um, the expectation I set?” he asked nervously.  
  
Rick laughed heartily, amused by the boy’s coyness. “Yeah, you really- you’re the real deal, Morty.”  
  
Rick shook his head, a grin still plastered on his face. “Fuck, M-morty, you’re-you’re gonna be the death of me, kid. That-that was, it was really something out of this world.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick, unable to cope with feeling things, pushes Morty away. Morty reacts accordingly.

“Rick.”  
  
_Silence._  
  
“Rick,” Morty repeated, almost pleadingly.  
  
Rick turned his head, eyes glazed from whatever drug-alcohol cocktail he’d indulged in that evening. “Go away,” he said evenly, expression blank as he stared Morty down.  
  
Morty frowned, taken aback by Rick’s sudden coldness. Mere hours had passed since the two had shared what he’d taken to be an , _intimate_ encounter, and yet here he was, fucked up and blocking him out, _again_.   
  
“Do you regret it, Rick? Is that it?” Morty asked weakly, silently praying that the sinking feeling in his gut was wrong, that Rick _wasn’t_ rejecting him.   
  
“Yes,” Rick croaked, hands trembling as he struggled to unscrew the nearest bottle of liquor.   
  
“I’m not... what you saw wasn’t, that’s not me, Morty,” Rick elaborated, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.   
  
Morty remained silent, waiting for him to continue.  
  
Rick sighed, avoiding Morty’s eyes. “I’m not... I take, Morty. I take and I _take_ and I _take_ until there’s nothing left. I devour people, Morty. I use them until... until they’re as broken and empty as I am. What we did... I... I wanted your first time to be, I-I wanted you to have something good to remember it by. But... but I can’t repeat that performance, Morty. It was... It was a bad idea, Morty. I shouldn’t have... I can’t give you what you need.”  
  
“But Rick...”  
  
“But what, Morty? I-I, it was just, all it ever would be is just _sex_. You didn’t-didn’t think I’d, ask-ask you to be my boyfriend or something, did you?” Rick scoffed, lazily tilting his head back as he drank from the bottle.   
  
“But you said you, you said-”  
  
“This isn’t about _love_ as in _caring_ , Morty. This is about _property_ , as in _ownership_. I don’t-I-I I’m not, I don’t have lovers, Morty. I have conquests. I do, I-I meant what I said and I do, I do care but... when it comes to this, to _this type of thing_ , it’s-I’m, I _fuck_ -” Rick swore, retrieving the spilled bottle of liquor that had slipped from his hands.   
  
“What are you saying, Rick?” Morty said numbly, fists clenched at his sides.  
  
“I’m saying that... That I’m not, I can’t give you what you want, Morty.”  
  
Morty nodded, heart sinking as he struggled to hold back tears that threatened to flow at any moment. “You know what, Rick?” he said softly, a dangerous edge to his tone.  
  
Rick raised an eyebrow, sipping from the nearly-empty bottle in his hand. “What?”  
  
“It’s no wonder that you’re all alone. You’re... This is why Grandma left you. This is why Unity left you. _This is why everyone leaves_. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You-you said it yourself... You take and you take and you take. You’re selfish. Well, fuck you. Fuck you, man. I thought that maybe... Maybe underneath the front you put up that there was some... That you had more depth to you but... You’re just a bad person. You didn’t give a fuck about your wife, you don’t give a fuck about your daughter, who am I... Who am I kidding, thinking that you’d _ever_ give a fuck about me, a _Morty_?”  
  
“Morty-”  
  
“Don’t,” Morty snapped, eyes rimmed red as he sniffled back tears. “Fuck you, Rick. I don’t want... I don’t _care_ , anymore. I don’t care if you drink yourself to death. I don’t care!”  
  
“Morty, wait,” Rick called out, drunkenly staggering to his feet.   
  
“No, Rick. I’m-I’m serious, this time. I’m out. Just... Just leave me alone,” Morty snapped, turning on his heel and storming out of the garage.

* * *

Morty slammed the door behind him, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He locked the door, sinking to his knees beside his bed, too distraught to even fathom rising to his feet and climbing into bed. “So fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself, cheeks hot as tears trickled down, dripping onto the carpet. “Of course he wouldn’t change, of course... Of _course_ he doesn’t care.”  
  
He hugged his knees tightly to his chest, allowing the pain and rejection to wash over him. _You let him... He, he took your virginity. And he didn’t even want you, didn’t even care. It was just... He was in it for the sex. How stupid could you be?_ Morty shook his head, gnawing at his lower lip until he drew blood. For a moment he nearly considered going downstairs to raid his mother’s liquor cabinet, if only to provide a temporary relief from his thoughts. “Don’t be like him... A fucking, fucking good for nothing drunk,” he muttered to himself, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.   
  
Chest still aching dully, he dragged himself to his feet, rummaging through his desk drawer until he found what he was looking for; a vial of pills, snagged from his mother’s medicine cabinet. . His mother had an entire host of anti-anxiety medication in her supply, and he’d done his research as to what was the fastest acting. He’d kept it on hand, _just in case_. Gingerly, he unscrewed the bottle, neatly tapping two round blue pills into his palm. Taking a deep breath, he brought the pills to his mouth, dry-swallowing them down. Sluggishly, he undressed, tossing his clothes onto the floor before crawling into bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin, staring up at the ceiling as he waited for the pills to take effect. He smiled slightly as he felt the throbbing pain in his chest relieve some, stifling a yawn as his eyelids grew heavy. _Sleep will make everything better. I just need to sleep._

* * *

Rick squeezed his eyes shut as he chugged the remainder of the bottle of alien liquor, his thirst insatiable. _You can’t drink the guilt away, Rick. But fuck all knows that you’ll try to, anyway._ He wiped his chapped lips with the back of his hand, hurtling the empty bottle across the room. He smirked as the sound of shattering glass filled the garage, shaky hands cracking open another bottle of liquor. He hadn’t wanted to push Morty away; he’d gone over the matter again and again in his mind, and had come to the conclusion that he wanted nothing more than for Morty to be _his_ , and only his. However, he hadn’t been able to ignore the nagging guilt. _He’s too young for you. He’s your grandson. He deserves more than an alcoholic, drug addicted sociopathic failure._  
  
Rick knew all too well what he was capable of, what he did again and again to the people he cared ( _loved, you mean loved, Rick_ ) about the most. He hadn’t been putting up a front when he’d told Morty that he’d destroy him; he’d seen the evidence time and time again. He was a selfish lover, and he was a taker. He needed too much, so he took until his partner had nothing left to give, draining them to their very core.   
  
Rick rose the bottle to his lips, taking a deep swig. “He fucking hates you, now. Nice-nice j-eugh-ob, _asshole_. He’ll probably... Christ, he’ll probably tell his parents that you fucking-fucking _molested_ him, or something,” he slurred, brows furrowed in disgust.  
  
Rick stared down at his desk, distracted by the sharp blade of the scalpel lying before him. _He’s right, you know. I don’t deserve to have anyone. Everyone would probably be a lot... a lot better off if I just..._ He froze, hand lingering mere centimeters away from the scalpel. There were worse things he could do than kill himself, he considered. Still, he hesitated, teeth clenched as he weighed the pros and cons of existence. _He doesn’t deserve that. You already... You crushed him, with your little speech. It’ll destroy him if he were to find you... Find your body, like that. You can’t do that to him_. Rick reached for the liquor, barely tasting the liquid as he poured it down his throat. He winced as he felt the familiar sting of strong liquor streaming from the corners of his mouth but persevered, desperate for the sweet, calming effect of _nothingness_ to hit him. He drained the contents of the bottle, tossing it aside. Vision blurred, he turned his attention to a half-finished contraption lying on his desk. He worked slowly, eyes focused on the work before him.  
  
Mechanically, he screwed pieces into place, his hands expertly handling the delicate work, despite his heavily intoxicated state. As he worked, he mulled over a nagging thought that had crossed his mind from the moment Morty had stormed out of the garage. Morty’s words had stung, particularly the comment about drinking himself to death. _He’s right, you know. That’s all you’re doing, all you have been doing, for years now. You want out, but not badly enough to just blow your brains out like a man. So you opted to take the slow way out, drinking yourself to death_. He frowned, delicately handling his screwdriver as he secured a component to his new project. _You’re going to have to ask someone for help. Even if he still hates you for... for being you, you can’t keep going like this. For his sake._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick asks for help from an unexpected source.  
> Morty turns to Summer to help cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep, so I worked on this. The angst continues....

“Hey Morty.”  
  
Morty glanced up from his bowl of cereal, startled by Rick’s sudden appearance in the kitchen.  
  
He’d been staring dismally down at his breakfast for nearly an hour, watching as his cereal slowly turned to mush, unable to stop his brain from replaying his last interaction with Rick on an endless loop.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, his tone a bit harsher than he’d intended.  
  
He’d slept with the aid of the xanax, but it had hardly been refreshing; rather, it had been a state of unconsciousness, something he figured _Rick_ was all too familiar with. He’d managed to avoid Rick up to this point, rushing off to school in the morning and heading right to his room as soon as he got home. He’d depended on the xanax to help him sleep, though _that_ obviously hadn’t helped much. However, it was at last Saturday. Morty knew it was only a matter of time until Rick finally cornered him.  
  
“I-I I’ve got a couple of errands I need to run today. Could use an extra pair of hands if you-re fr-eugh-ee,” Rick drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets.  
  
Morty frowned, gripping his spoon tightly. “I have plans. Sorry,” he muttered, staring down at his bowl.  
  
“Morty,” Rick countered, rolling his eyes, “you’ve been in here for like, an hour. Staring at your food. Real busy, huh?”  
  
Morty frowned, rising to his feet. Mechanically, he lifted his bowl off the table, dumping the contents into the sink. “I have plans with Jessica,” he muttered, refusing to meet Rick’s eyes as he strode out of the room.  
  
“Oh, oh really, Morty?” Rick snapped, striding towards him, gripping him tightly on the shoulder.  
  
“Get off me,” Morty hissed, recoiling from his touch.  
  
“Don’t make this weird, Morty. You-you, it was consensual. Don’t-don’t be a fucking baby just-jus bec-eugh-ause you didn’t get your way,” Rick stammered, grabbing Morty’s shoulder once more.  
  
“Why don’t you go drink some more? It’s obvious you’ve already been hitting the bottle pretty hard and it’s only what, eleven thirty? Nice, Rick. _Realllll_ nice,” Morty scoffed, pulling Rick’s hand off of him.  
  
“Morty, you little shit. Don’t be like this.”  
  
“Be like what, Rick? You don’t want to be my boyfriend so-so, what do you care if I-I go out? I’m-I’m sixteen, Rick! I have a life. A life outside of going on crazy adventures with _you_. I don’t- I don’t need to explain this to you. I’m going out,” he huffed, turning on his heel and making a beeline towards the front door.  
  
“Morty-”  
  
“Later, Rick.”

* * *

Hesitantly, Morty knocked on his sister’s front door. Refusing to swallow his pride and return home, admitting that he had no plans, he’d driven the nearly two hours to his sister’s off-campus apartment, if only to avoid Rick.

After a few minutes, the door creaked open. “Morty?” Summer asked, hair askew.

“Is-is now a bad time?” Morty asked, suddenly aware that Summer may have _visitors_.

“Nah... Long night but,” she paused, shaking her head. “Come in.”

Morty obeyed, following his older sister inside. “So what’s wrong?” she asked, as she quickly began brewing a pot of coffee.

“N-nothing. Just missed you, is all,” Morty lied, taking a seat at the tiny kitchen table that was wedged between the counter and the half-wall meant to separate the kitchen area from the living room.

“Bullshit,” Summer said evenly, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the coffee to brew. “Did you like, have another fight with Grandpa Rick?”

Morty paled, guilt washing over him as he thought of what had transpired between the two of them only three days prior. “Can we... Can we not talk about him?” he whispered, biting down on his lower lip.

“Is the drinking bad?” Summer asked, pouring two steaming mugs of coffee.

She placed a mug in front of Morty, settling across from him at the table. Morty mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ before setting to work adding sugar to his coffee.

Summer sipped hers carefully, steam rising from the mug. _She drinks her coffee black_ , he observed, as he dumped his fourth sugar packet into his coffee. _Like Rick_. He frowned, the very thought of Rick souring his mood.

“Either you’ve been out on a lot of late-night adventures, or you’re not sleeping well,” she observed, lips pursed tightly together.

“Yeah, I haven’t... haven’t been sleeping so great, I guess,” Morty admitted, shrugging.

“Because you’re fighting with Rick.”

“I don’t want to talk about-”

“Does it have something to do with your major crush on him?” Summer interrupted, right eyebrow raised curiously.

“WHat?” Morty sputtered, coffee splashing onto the table as his hands shook.

“As if it wasn’t _totally_ obvious that you had a major hard-on for him,” Summer shrugged, rolling her eyes. “I’m not _blind_ , Morty.”

Morty stared at her a moment, processing her statement. “So you don’t... You don’t think I’m sick... That I’m disgusting?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re my little brother, Morty... I love you, no matter what,” Summer said softly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it lightly. “Besides... We’ve both seen some pretty crazy shit out there in the universe... Morality is a social construct. I guess you... Guess you don’t have a planetary mindset. Grandpa Rick must be proud,” she continued, offering Morty a small grin.

“He doesn’t...” he paused, acutely aware that somehow tears had begun to form in his eyes. “He doesn't feel the same way, I guess. He’s... He’s an asshole.”

“True,” Summer noted, nodding as she took a sip of her coffee. “But I think he cares more than he lets on, Morty. He’s... He’s going through some shit, you know? He’s....” she paused, frowning. “He’s an addict, Morty. A lot of his ‘I don’t care’ bullshit is a defense mechanism.”

“Rick’s not that deep, Summer. He’s just a huge asshole.”

“You’re the one he saved instead of leaving you to die when he fucked up your original universe,” Summer noted, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

“I’m a tool to him, Summer,” Morty protested, shaking his head.

“What did he do to get you so upset?” Summer pressed, frowning. “It can’t be just the drinking that’s got you so wound up.”

Morty sighed, staring down at the ground.

“Morty.”

“I... We....” he trailed off, a sob escaping his lips as he covered his face with his hands, letting the tears fall freely.

Summer hugged him tightly as he continued to sob, hot tears stinging his cheeks. “And I thought... I thought that I mattered, that I was _special_. And he just... He... He.... Nothing. He acted like it was nothing. That _I_ was nothing,” he mumbled, his words barely comprehensible as snot trickled down his chin.

“Shhh... Shhh...” Summer whispered soothingly, rubbing his back.

“Morty, I know you’re hurting, but Rick... He’s in a lot of pain. He’s... He’s pushing you away because he’s afraid. You have to know that it’s not _you_ , Morty. This is _his_ problem. His issues. You didn’t do anything wrong, he’s just... He’s pushing you away like he pushes everyone away. He’s afraid of letting his guard down, Morty.”

“But he was... He opened up to me. He told me things when he was...”

“When he was withdrawing?” Summer asked.

Morty nodded. “I thought we were connecting, that he was opening up to me, confiding in me.”

“You have to be patient with him, Morty. He... Rick has issues. You know that. He probably _wants_ to quit drinking, _for you_. But he’s afraid. It’s his coping mechanism and you’re asking him to give up the only constant he’s had in his life for years, probably. You know? I don’t think he even know who he _is_ , sober,” Summer elaborated, rubberizing Morty’s back.

“I guess you’re right,” Morty sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “It’s... It’s hard.”

“You have to try and be strong, Morty. Rick is vulnerable. If you really... Really care about him. You should try and be there for him... Even if you’re angry and... And really hurt about whatever transpired between you two.”

“Do you love him?” she asked, nervously twirling a strand of red hair around her index finger.

Morty nodded, color rising in his cheeks.

“Then you have to try. You have to support him and encourage him to get himself some help,” Summer continued, offering him a weak smile. “I know it’s hard, but he _needs_ you.”

* * *

“Thanks for um, for agreeing to meet with me,” Rick stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously with his right hand.  
  
“I have to admit, I was wary at first, Rick. But your message... Something compelled me to agree to a meeting,” Unity noted, brushing a strand of dark red hair behind their ear.  
  
Rick nodded, gripping the tumbler in his left hand tighter. He pressed his lips tightly together, considering his next words.  
  
Unity observed him, frowning as Rick drained the contents of his glass with a single gulp. “Rick,” they started, sighing, “you didn’t make all of this up just to get me to see you so that you could-”  
  
“I want to stop drinking,” Rick interrupted, staring down at his now-empty glass.  
  
“Oh?” Unity asked, right eyebrow raised in surprise.  
  
“I um... I went two days without drinking a couple-a couple of weeks ago and... I can’t do it alone, Une. I’m-I’m you know... I know I have a... that I’m an alcoholic. I-I I need help.”  
  
“Rick,” they sighed, shaking their head, “I told you before, I won’t assimilate you... You are the strongest-willed single minded individual I’ve ever encountered, Rick. You know that.”  
  
“Nothing like that, Une. You-you know the universe better than- better than even me. I need to- to find a place or pr-eugh-ogram or whatever to-to-to dry out. Or whatever.”  
  
Concern flashed across Unity’s eyes as they observed him. “What is it? Cirrhosis? Cancer? We could-”  
  
“No, no. It’s not... Well, actually, I have no idea what state my liver’s in, but it’s not,” he paused, motioning to the bartender to bring him another drink,”I guess I-I don’t want to hurt the people I love, anymore.”  
  
Unity sipped their drink, brows furrowed in thought. “I know of a facility on Orogon Six that’s very good. Dr. Zebbularf is an addictions specialist, he’s one of the best out there. It’ll be tough though, Rick.”  
  
“It can’t be worse than withdrawing in your daughter’s home with no medical intervention,” Rick grumbled, sipping from his freshened beverage.  
  
“It’s a ninety day, intensive program, Rick. You’ll probably be unconscious for the first two or three weeks while you’re coming off of all substances; they _do_ sedate you, to minimize discomfort.”  
  
Unity frowned, considering. “However, they may not, seeing as you have multiple addictions...”  
  
“What are you saying, Une? That I should go check myself into a fucking-an an _Earth_ hospital? Tell them ‘I’m a fucking alcoholic, pump me full of sedatives until I dry out?’ Is that what you’re suggesting?” Rick snarled, slamming his glass down.  
  
“I’m just saying that it isn’t going to be easy, Rick. There isn’t some magic cure to make it all go away. Sure, there are medical and technological advances available across the galaxy, but there isn’t _magic_. It took you _years_ to get to this point. You’re not going to recover overnight,” they retorted calmly, adjusting their glasses.  
  
Rick sighed, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to do... I don’t... I don’t know if I could even do it. I don’t-don’t know how to _be_ sober.”  
  
“I can arrange your admission, if you’d like.”  
  
Rick nodded. “Okay.”  
  
He paused, frowning. “They’re not gonna... Gonna jump on me and commit me or something, are they?”  
  
Unity laughed. “No, Rick. It’s not a mental hospital... It’s rehab. You’re voluntarily checking yourself in. If at any point you want out, you can check yourself out. They’re there to help you, not hold you against your will.”  
  
“I’m beginning to wonder if anyone can help me,” he mumbled, taking a deep sip of his drink.  
  
“How bad is it, Rick?” Unity asked softly, a smooth hand covering his dry, callused one.  
  
“I don’t know... I mix it up. Sometimes I drink Earth liquor. Sometimes alien stuff... Three or four pints a day, I s’pose. Five sometimes... I don’t know,” he huffed, angrily chugging down the rest of his drink.  
  
Rick sulked, ordering another drink as Unity left the bar to make a phone call, outside. He sipped the stiff drink, mulling over the decision he’d just made. _Do you really want to do this? Can you even do this, give up drinking? What are you doing, Sanchez?_  
  
He’d considered sobriety more times than he could remember, and had failed miserably, more times than he cared to count. Nothing’s going to change, he thought miserably, sipping his drink. _Once a drunk, always a drunk, just like dear old dad. Another fucking disappointment, Rick fucking Sanchez. Fuck up, extraordinaire._  
  
“Rick,” Unity said, grabbing Rick’s attention.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked miserably, swirling the ice in his glass.  
  
“They won’t have a bed available for another month... Do you still want to go through with this?” they asked hopefully.  
  
Rick jerked his head forward, gripping his drink tighter. “Gives me time to have one last big binge, I suppose,” he noted, laughing bitterly.  
  
“If that’s what you want, sure, I suppose. I don’t think Morty would appreciate that, though.”  
  
“How would you know what-what M-eugh-orty wants?” Rick queried, brows furrowed.  
  
“I know you better than I know myself, Rick,” Unity shrugged, examining their fingernails.  
  
Rick remained silent, sipping his drink.  
  
“You should apologize to him.”  
  
“I didn’t _do_ anything wrong-”  
  
“Of course you did. You push people away, Rick. You always have. You do it because you don’t believe that anyone _could_ love you. Or is it that you don’t believe you _deserve_ their love?”  
  
Rick froze, drink clutched tightly in his fist.  
  
“Rick.”  
  
_Silence._  
  
“Rick.”  
  
Rick glowered, guzzling down the remainder of his drink. He belched loudly, shooting Unity a murderous look, as if to say, _let it go_.  
  
Unity sighed, defeated. Expertly, they procured a pen and paper from their handbag, scrawling out a date, time, and address onto the paper. “Here,” they offered, handing him the paper. “May 22nd. 8am. Healing. Don’t be late.”  
  
“Healing?” Rick asked incredulously. “What the fuck kind of-of bullshit hipster name is _healing_?”  
  
“Rick-”  
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me, right? Like seriously, what sort of asshole names their fucking rehab _Healing_? Jesus fucking Christ...”  
  
Unity rolled their eyes, waiting for him to finish his rant.  
  
“I mean really, Une. It’s like naming a fucking housing project _Dwell_. What the fuck... _Healing_.... Fucking _healing_. God, I feel like a tool, just saying it.”  
  
“I need to be going,” Unity interrupted, clearing their throat. “Good luck, Rick. I hope you find the relief you’re looking for,” they concluded, pulling him into an embrace.  
  
“Me too,” he muttered under his breath as he hugged back, unable to resist the urge to cup the curve of their ass with his hands. “Me fucking too.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm debating whether or not Rick will divulge to Morty that he is considering going to rehab. I can't decide which would be more interesting; Rick trying to go it alone, too afraid to let Morty know about it for fear of failing, or Morty at Rick's side, tearfully sitting through family therapy sessions and learning more and more about the circumstances that made Rick the man that he is. Thoughts and suggestions are always greatly appreciated.

“Are you sure you don’t mind having me spend the night?” Morty asked for what was probably the fifteenth time that evening.  
  
“Yes, Morty,” Summer retorted, rolling her eyes. “You could use a break from home... Besides, it’s nice, having you here. I feel like I’ve barely seen you since I left for college.”  
  
“Wouldn’t you rather be out p-partying or something instead of sitting home with your loser little brother?” Morty persisted, rapping his fingers against the kitchen table.  
  
“Morty,” she started, taking a seat opposite him at the table, “you’re having a hard time. I want to be there for you. Just let me do this, okay?”  
  
Morty nodded, anxiously biting his lower lip. “I should probably-”  
  
“I already texted Mom. She knows you’re here. I’m sure she’ll relay the message to Rick.”  
  
“If he’s not passed out in the garage,” Morty added bitterly, frowning.  
  
“You’re still angry at him,” Summer observed.  
  
“I don’t know. I just... Nothing is easy with him.”  
  
“I know,” Summer agreed, frowning. “You’re _allowed_ to be angry, you know.”  
  
Morty shrugged, staring down at his hands.  
  
“Morty,” Summer said urgently, reaching over the table to take his hands in hers. “Really. You have every right to be angry and hurt and whatever else you’re feeling. Don’t feel guilty for reacting to whatever transpired between you and-”  
  
“He fucked me,” Morty blurted out, red-faced with embarrassment. “I-I let him, let him fuck me, bent over his fucking-fucking desk, okay?” he croaked, hot tears prickling his cheeks.  
  
Summer’s facial expression remained neutral as she squeezed his hands tighter, silently waiting for him to continue.  
  
“I-I he, he took my _virginity_ , Summer. And then acted like-like it was nothing. He fucking, told-told me he _regretted_ it. Chastised me for-for thinking that he’d _want_ to be my boyfriend. And it fucking _hurts so much_ ,” he continued, hiccuping as he struggled to catch his breath.  
  
Morty barely registered the sound of chair legs scraping against linoleum, tears stinging his cheeks as he felt his sister’s arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I-I thought he- that he really l- _liked_ me, y’know?” he sobbed, unabashedly continuing to sob as Summer held him close.  
  
“Shhh, it’s okay, Morty,” Summer assured him, lightly rubbing his back. “It’s okay.”  
  
“It’s _not_ , though. How can I face him, Summer? How can I go home and pretend that this doesn’t hurt, that it’s _not_ killing me, that he just-just shut me down, like that?” Morty pressed, wiping his eyes furiously. “What am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Don’t think about it,” Summer replied evenly, shrugging. “Rick can be a selfish bastard, but he’s not _stupid_. He’ll understand if you need some time to... to cool off, Morty. If you need to distance yourself for a while, that’s okay. But don’t shut him out, completely.”  
  
“I thought you said that I need to be supportive, even though it hurts?” Morty queried, self-consciously folding his arms against his chest.  
  
Summer’s brows furrowed as she bit her lip, considering. “I didn’t know the _extent_ of the circumstances,” she began, tapping her fingernails against the kitchen table. “It’s... It’s understandable that you might need some time away from him to... to sort yourself out.”  
  
“Do you think I’m stupid for sleeping with him?” Morty asked, his voice low, barely audible.  
  
“No,” Summer replied, shaking her head. “It’s not stupid to sleep with someone you’re in love with.”  
  
She rose to her feet, offering him a warm smile. “Come on, don’t think about it right now. Let’s go watch some TV or something.”

* * *

Rick rubbed his face roughly with his hands, willing the room to stop spinning. He’d woken, or rather, come back into consciousness, sprawled out on the concrete floor of the garage, the door of the space ship still swung open. “Ughhh,” he groaned, rubbing his temples furiously.  
  
Sluggishly, he dug through the various drawers of his work bench, in search of something to ease the throbbing in his head. He retrieved a vial from one of the drawers, holding it up, victorious. He removed the cap, dumping half a dozen pills into an open palm. Expertly, he dry swallowed them, chasing them down with a swig from his flask. He stared down at the half-finished projects that littered his desk until the spinning sensation stopped and the throbbing in his head dulled to a tolerable level. He vaguely recalled speaking with Unity the day before, as well as drinking at the intergalactic bar until he’d been flagged, staggering out to his ship and returning home. It had been a while since he’d gotten that wasted, he observed, taking another sip from his flask. Usually, he would have found someone to go home with in such an intoxicated state, for an easy lay. _Too bad you can’t seem to get it up for anyone but your grandson, anymore, you fucking-_ he frowned, rising to his feet to peek out the garage windows. To his surprise, Morty’s car was missing from his usual spot in the driveway. “Where the fuck is he?” he muttered to himself, taking a pull from his flask. _I didn’t get laid on account of that little shit and he didn’t even come home last night?_  
  
Feeling worse for wear, Rick dragged himself into the house, settling down at the kitchen table with a mug of black coffee. He sipped the hot liquid slowly, resisting the urge to ‘Irish it up a little bit with a pour from his flask. _Are you really going to check yourself into rehab? Give up your one comfort?_ Rick took another gulp of coffee, mentally weighing his options.  
  
“Hey Dad,” Beth greeted him, entering the room.  
  
“Oh, h-hey, sweetie,” Rick replied, forcing a grin as she removed a mug from the cabinet, pouring herself a cup of coffee.  
  
“Did you just get in?” she asked, joining him at the table, mug in hand.  
  
“Y-yeah,” he lied, shrugging casually. _No point telling her I passed out in the garage. Again._  
  
“W-where’s Morty?” he asked, struggling to sound nonchalant. _Don’t make it obvious._  
  
“Oh, he went to visit Summer and spent the night,” Beth replied cheerfully.  
  
Rick nodded, taking a sip of coffee. “Oh,” he replied evenly, ignoring the faint feeling of relief that he’d spent the night with his sister and not with _Jessica._  
  
“Do you think you could take a look at the dishwasher for me? It’s doing that _thing_ , again,” Beth started, nodding towards the dishwasher.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick agreed, rising to his feet. “I’ll uh, I’ll get it up and running again, sweetie.”  
  
“Thanks, Dad,” Beth smiled cheerfully, rising as well to pull him into an embrace, “you’re the best.”

* * *

Rick frowned at his computer screen, bringing his flask to his lips and taking a deep sip. “What the _fuck_ is this crap?” he muttered, shaking his head.  
  
After fixing the dishwasher, Rick had retreated to the garage, where he’d fiddled with some half-completed inventions for most of the afternoon, ignoring the nagging thought in the back of his mind, reminding him of his meeting the Unity the night prior. _You’ve got a month. Are you really going to do this? Give up drinking? Get clean?_  
  
Unable to quell his curiosity, he abandoned his tinkering for his computer, searching for information on the facility ( _rehab, you mean rehab, Sanchez_ ) Unity had secured him a place at. He browsed the facility’s website, cringing at the name ( _Healing, what a stupid fucking name_ ) as he briefly scanned the facility’s mission statement.  
  
“ _Healing_ is the premier intergalactic treatment center for chemical dependency. _Healing_ is dedicated to providing the highest quality of individualized treatment in a caring and compassionate environment. We treat each patient with dignity and strive to replace hopelessness, fear and despair with optimism, hope and a new vision of life. We offer a gateway to sobriety filled with new insights and living skills,” he read, voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
He shook his head, taking a deep swig from the nearest bottle he could reach. “What am I getting myself into?”  
  
He browsed the site, stopping as he came across information detailing their detox program. He reached for the bottle, liquor streaming from the corners of his mouth as he chugged it down, heart racing as his thoughts turned to memories of his last experience detoxing off of alcohol. His hands shook as he placed the bottle down, heart still pounding in his chest.  
  
He turned off the screen, burying his face in his hands for a moment, thoughts racing. “I can’t do this,” he muttered.  
  
Sighing, he reached for the bottle, guzzling down the contents. “Might as well get drunk while I still can,” he muttered wryly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “T-time to get fucking _wrecked_.”

* * *

Morty stood anxiously in the doorway to the garage, his heart pounding skittishly in his chest. _Don’t be a pussy, just go in and check on him_. He’d promised Summer, albeit reluctantly, that he’d try his best to continue to keep an eye on Rick, and to _try_ to offer support and encouragement for him to quit drinking, despite the aching in his chest that threatened to consume him.  
  
“You don’t just give up on the people you love when things aren’t easy,” Summer had reminded him, hazel eyes boring holes into his own as she’d spoken. “You keep loving them and supporting them, anyway.”  
  
He’d tried to argue, but Summer would hear nothing of it, letting his arguments fall on deaf ears.  
  
“You don’t love someone _despite_ their flaws, Morty. You love them, period. Flaws and all,” she had insisted, shooting him an authoritative gaze.  
  
Taking a deep breath for courage, he entered the garage, mentally preparing himself for the worst.  
  
“Rick,” he called out, slowly approaching Rick, who was slumped over his work-bench, tools still in hand.  
  
“Rick,” he said again, quieter this time, as he gently shook him by the shoulder.  
  
“Hmmmh.. What?” Rick muttered, face still pressed down against the desk.  
  
“Come on, it-it’s late. You should come up to bed,” Morty said with forced calmness, a hard lump forming in his throat as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.  
  
He hated seeing him like this, _hated_ it. He was used to seeing Rick drunk, yes, but this- tired, confused, barely able to string coherent sentences together drunk Rick- _this_ hurt to watch.  
  
Rick shrugged, cracking his neck as he sat upright, hands shaking slightly as he groped around the desk until he grabbed a hold of the familiar silver flask. Morty watched, lips pursed tightly together as Rick brought the flask to his lips, guzzling down the alien liquor.  
  
“M-Morty,” Rick drawled, tossing an arm casually around his neck. “My M-m Morty.”  
  
“Come on, Rick. Y-you’re drunk, man. Let’s just get you upstairs, okay?” Morty replied, heart racing as Rick rose to his feet, drunkenly allowing himself to rest some of his weight against Morty.  
  
“L-let’s go on an adventure, Morty,” Rick slurred, pulling Morty closer to him, his breath hot on his neck. “Like old times, Morty. Just you and me... Rick and Morty. Running around... Doing stuff. Rick and Morty, just-just me and my _my_ Morty,” he continued, pressing a sloppy trail of kisses down Morty’s neck.  
  
Morty froze, limbs stiffening as Rick nibbled on his collarbone, apparently undeterred by Morty’s rigid form.  
  
“Y-you wanna.... Wanna make me forget all about-all about the- the _everything_ , Morty? Like-like you promised?” he panted, pulling Morty into an embrace, right hand resting on his hip. “You wanna-wanna be grandpa’s little _slut_?”  
  
Morty pulled away, biting hard down on his lip to force back tears that threatened to pour down at any moment. “You’re drunk, Rick. _Really_ drunk. Let me... Just let me help you up to bed, okay?” he asked, voice cracking at the last word.  
  
Rick nodded, swaying slightly in place as he observed Morty. “A-alright,” he agreed, grabbing a hold of Morty’s arm and allowing himself to be lead out of the garage and up the stairs to his bedroom.  
  
Morty shut Rick’s door behind him, watching grimly as Rick collapsed face-first onto his mattress. He sighed, slowly approaching the older man. “Come on, Rick,” he started, hoisting Rick up again, “let me help you get undressed.”  
  
Carefully, Morty removed Rick’s shirt and pants, leaving him dressed in his boxers and wife beater. He obliged when Rick pulled him into an embrace, allowing himself to fall beside the older man onto the mattress, resting his head against Rick’s check, inhaling his scent. “Mmm,” he murmured, unable to ignore the fluttering in his stomach as the older man held him closer, lips gently pressing kisses down his neck. “I love you, Morty,” Rick slurred, the smell of alien liquor wafting up from his mouth. “I-I do, I just... I don’t want to hurt you, Morty. I’m sorry-so sorry if I’ve- I don’t want to I just...” Rick’s voice trailed off, replaced by the faint sound of snoring.  
  
Morty laid still for a moment, savoring the warmth of Rick’s arms wrapped around him, listening to the sound of Rick’s heartbeat, rhythm matching his own. After a few minutes, he removed himself from Rick’s grip, rising to his feet. He observed the older man for a moment, heart beating furiously in his chest. _I’m glad Summer told me to check on him. This was... This was nice. Even if he was blackout drunk._ He frowned, wrapping his arms around himself. _Even if he didn’t-didn’t mean what he said._ Morty bit the inside of his cheek, thoughts racing. Despite Rick’s drunken apology, he still hurt, still doubted Rick’s sincerity. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it_. “Good night, Rick,” he whispered, quietly slipping out of the room, down the hall to his own.  
  
Silently, he popped two xanax into his mouth, swallowing them down with a sip of water. He tugged off his clothes, suddenly exhausted. Eyelids drooping, he crawled into bed, pulling his covers up around him as he curled up onto his side, quickly drifting to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've actually reached 10 chapters with this... where does the time go? My significant other is tired of me asking them to brainstorm ideas on where to go with this story, so if anyone wants to be a lovely individual and let me run ideas by them, I'd love you forever.

Morty woke to Rick hovering over him, a vague look of concern etched on his face. “What-what are you doing in here, Rick?” he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  
  
“It’s noon, _Morty_. Y-you slept through your alarm, Morty,” Rick elaborated, eyeing him critically.  
  
“I wasn’t feeling well,” Morty lied, shrugging his shoulders. He slumped forward a a bit, struggling to suppress a yawn. Xanax always left him feeling groggy the next day.  
  
“Since you missed school, anyway, you wanna help me with an errand I need to run?”  
  
Morty shut his eyes for a moment, considering. _He’s trying. If I say yes, we can pretend that all of this never happened, we can go back to normal._ Morty sighed. _Maybe I don’t want it to go back to normal. Maybe I can’t pretend that it never happened._ “Nah,” he said finally, shrugging once more. “I’m not... not feeling so good, Rick. Think I better just stay in bed and rest.”  
  
Rick rolled his eyes, shooting him an _I don’t believe you_ look, but relented, all the same. “Whatever Morty. Feel better, I guess,” he noted, slamming the door behind him as he exited the room.  
  
Morty exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful for the momentary peace. Between school and Rick, he rarely had a moment to himself; it would be nice to have a couple of hours of solitude. Once certain that Rick had portaled off to wherever he was going, Morty dragged himself out of bed, pulling on yesterday’s tee shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. _Might as well look sick if I expect Mom and Dad to buy it._ He shuffled down to the kitchen, quickly preparing himself a bowl of cereal and a fresh pot of coffee. He ate slowly, savoring his overly sweet coffee as he considered what to do about Rick. Once finished with his breakfast, he wandered into the garage, unable to resist the temptation of rummaging through Rick’s belongings. He averted his gaze from the pile of empty liquor bottles littering the floor beside Rick’s workbench, his stomach gurgling uneasily at the sight. _He drinks too much. It’s like he never even stopped, the way he’s been drinking, lately._  
  
He took a seat in front of Rick’s computer, toying with the half-finished inventions strewn across the desk. Morty listened to the faint whir of the computer running, suddenly aware that Rick hadn’t logged off of his PC, unusual for him. Hesitantly, Morty pressed the on-button of the monitor, staring anxiously as the screen lit up. “What the fuck,” he muttered, inching closer to the screen to get a better view.  
  
He read slowly, his mind still processing what he had found on Rick’s computer. _A rehab site... He’s... He’s thinking about getting sober._ Morty frowned, drumming his fingers absently against the desk. Suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable; this was private, very private. He had invaded Rick’s personal space, had stumbled upon something very intimate about Rick. _I should go._ He rose to his feet, quickly shutting the monitor off. He stood staring at the computer for several minutes, his heart fluttering nervously in his chest. _Maybe he does care... Maybe he wants to try... For you._ He considered tidying up the place, at least gathering up the plethora of empty bottles, but decided against it. _It’ll be too suspect... he’ll think you were out here snooping around if he comes home to a clean work area._ Unable to contain his excitement at the information he’d come across, he rushed back into the house, to conduct more in-depth research.

* * *

Morty stared at his laptop screen, unsure of where to begin. He’d waited all of fifteen minutes after leaving the garage to look up the rehab facility’s website from the safety of his bedroom, silently thanking whatever higher being there may be in the universe that he’d thought to ask Rick for access to intergalactic internet access months ago. His eyes anxiously scanned the web page, as he struggled to commit every single word to memory. He’d immediately browsed the site for the page he’d found open on Rick’s computer, about detoxing. Quietly, he began to read, engrossed.  
  
_Healing offers medically monitored residential drug/alcohol detox that is closely supervised by a detox specialist. Our physicians have more than 20 years of experience managing the symptoms of withdrawal using the latest evidence-based approaches._  
  
Morty scrolled down, eyes glued to the screen. _He’s worried about detoxing. Just 48 hours was almost too much for him..._ He sighed, shaking his head. “Why wouldn’t he tell me that he’s thinking about this...” he muttered to himself.  
  
He rolled his eyes, already knowing the answer. “He’s stubborn. He doesn’t want-want anyone to see his weakness.”  
  
_If conducted improperly, detox can be painful, even life-threatening in certain cases. The discomfort of withdrawal is one of the primary reason people leave treatment early or put off treatment all together. At Healing, 99 percent of our clients complete detox and move forward with their recovery program. That’s because we use a combination of traditional and alternative approaches to make detox as gentle and comfortable as possible. Our goal is to manage the physical changes that occur in the brain and body after repeated drug/alcohol use, while providing the highest degree of comfort and support._  
  
Morty paused, reading the last paragraph over a few times. _They certainly hit the nail on the head... Detox was the whole reason Rick was back to drinking as soon as he’d won the bet. He was afraid of fully detoxing._ He sighed, scribbling down notes onto a nearby pad of paper. He continued to read the page on detox, pausing every few minutes to scrawl down a few more notes on the topic.  
  
_Most of our clients finish drug/alcohol detox within 3 to 7 days of admission. However, at Healing, our focus is on completing detox in a way that allows clients to be successful long-term, not how long the process takes._  
  
_At Healing, you aren’t expected to have a clear plan for how to get from where you are now to where you want to be. Ambivalence is the rule rather than the exception when people come to treatment. You may not feel ready to give up drugs and alcohol. You may not know what’s next for you after detox. That’s why we’re here- to guide you along to the path of recovery, one step at a time._  
  
Instinctively, Morty reached for his phone, dialing Summer’s number.  
  
“Hello?” Summer replied after barely two rings.  
  
“Hey,” Morty started, still staring at his laptop.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
“So um... I found this website opened up on Rick’s computer and...” he paused, unsure of how to broach the subject.  
  
“What was it, some freaky alien porn? You know Rick’s into some weird shit, Morty. I wouldn’t take it personally,” Summer retorted, laughing slightly.  
  
“No-no it’s not, nothing like that.”  
  
“So....”  
  
“It was something about a rehab facility off-planet.” _Silence._  
  
“Oh... Wow,” Summer said, after a lengthy pause.  
  
“Yeah...” Morty sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“So are you going to talk to him about it?”  
  
“How can I talk about it, Summer? I was _spying_ on him... I found out about it through an invasion of his privacy!”  
  
“As if Rick wouldn’t do the same sort of thing.”  
  
“That’s not the point, Summer! Recovery and his... his addiction... That’s _personal._ It’s not something he just volunteers information about. I think he’s, that he’s embarrassed by it. You know? Like, Rick is so strong and distant and in control all the time... I-I I think he’s embarrassed that he’s got this, this _thing_ that is really the one pulling the strings.”  
  
“I get what you’re saying... no doubt it’s a blow to his ego, that’s for sure,” Summer agreed.  
  
“I don’t know what to do, Summer. How do I pretend that I- that I didn’t _see_ this? That I don’t know that he’s, that he’s considering going to rehab? I don’t, I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. Encourage him to get some help... It’s probably why he’s even been looking into it, to begin with. Be supportive. You don’t have to tell him that you know... Just throw out hints that it’d be good for him to get some professional help, you know?”  
  
“How can he not tell me about this, Summer? I-I told him I wanted to be there for him, that I could help... Why wouldn't he tell me if he was thinking about taking a big step like-like-like _rehab_?”  
  
Summer sighed, heavily. “You said it yourself, Morty. He’s embarrassed by it. It really is a very personal topic... he might not be ready to tell you. Give him some time to open up about it.”  
  
“But-but-”  
  
“Morty, has it occurred to you that maybe he’s not ready to talk about it because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up if he _doesn’t_ end up going through with it?”  
  
Morty sighed, feeling his stomach drop. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice cracking. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Rick returned late that evening, heavily inebriated. After successfully gathering the supplies needed to continue his work on his death ray, he’d decided to stop at the plim plom tavern because, _why not?_ Countless rounds of drink later, he’d staggered out of the bar, barely able to enter the coordinates for home into his portal gun. He tossed his portal gun onto the desk, a trickle of vomit trailing down his chin as he stumbled across the garage, towards the door. He swung the door open, met by an unexpected silence; _what time is it anyway? I can’t have been gone that long..._ Squinting, he struggled to focus his eyesight on the flashing clock on the oven. _2 am. Oh, shit._ He rummaged through his pockets, in search of his flask. He brought it to his lips, taking a deep sip. Satisfied, he made his way through the house, stumbling up the stairs to his bedroom. He smiled serenely, feeling calmer than he had in quite some time. It was a delicate balance, reaching this state of intoxication: not enough to drink and he was left angry and frustrated, chasing the blissful state of feeling nothing; too much, and he’d completely black out, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.  
  
Lazily, he swung his bedroom door open, holding onto the door frame for support. “W-what are you doing in here?” he asked, surprised to find a familiar figure lying in his bed.  
  
Rick swayed slightly, waiting for a response. Morty lay still in his bed, the faint sound of snoring filling the room. _He’s asleep_. Rick continued to observe him for a moment, mesmerized by how peaceful he looked. He slowly approached the boy, locking the door behind him. “Hey Morty,” he slurred, hovering over the boy, brushing his hair from out of his eyes.  
  
Morty mumbled something incomprehensible, fidgeting in his sleep. Rick’s smile faded as he caught sight of a prescription bottle gripped loosely in Morty’s right hand. _What is he doing?_ Carefully, Rick removed the bottle from Morty’s hands, taking care not to wake him. He rose to his feet, flickering on the lights. He froze as he read the label of the bottle; _xanax_. Head reeling from this revelation, he slowly lowered himself down on the bed, hanging his head between his knees. He breathed slowly, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. _He’s taking xanax. Xanax he swiped off of Beth. Because of you._ Rick felt sick to his stomach. Pressing his lips tightly together, he rose to his feet, rushing to the bathroom down the hall. He fell to his knees, letting a spray of vomit escape his lips. Panting slightly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only to lower his head once more, another wave of nausea hitting him. _You’re fault. He’s numbing himself because you’re a fucking asshole._  
  
Rick groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. _Do something, you fucking asshole. You need to do something._ He sighed, turning around to glance at Morty once more. _He’s knocked out... No point.. No point trying to wake him up. It’d be... It’d be a futile effort. Just let him sleep it off. Talk to him in the morning_. Ignoring the painfully heavy feeling weighing down his chest, Rick rose to his feet, scooping Morty up into his arms. “Come on, buddy,” he whispered, gently pressing a kiss against Morty’s forehead. “Let’s get- get you to bed.”  
  
Feeling far more sober than he’d had mere minutes before, Rick silently padded his way down the hall to Morty’s room, closing the door behind him. Gently, he tucked Morty into bed, again kissing him on the forehead. “Look,” he started, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m-I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry that I’m- that-that I’ve...” he trailed off, waving his arms in exasperation. “We’ll talk about this... I don’t... God, I don’t want this for you, Morty. You don’t- you-you shouldn’t feel like you need... need to be medicated just to sleep.”  
  
He observed the boy for a few minutes longer, gently brushing his hair from out of his eyes. _How long have you been doing this, Morty? A week? A month? Longer?_ Rick messily ran his fingers through his hair, unable to stand the feeling of guilt coursing through him. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Morty,” he muttered, turning back to glance at his grandson one last time before slinking out of the room.

* * *

“Morty.”  
  
Morty squeezed his eyes shut, pretending not to hear Rick’s voice.  
  
“Morty,” Rick repeated, seemingly aggravated.  
  
_Just lie still. He’ll get bored and leave._  
  
“For Christ’s sake, Morty, wake up!” Rick snapped, shaking the boy roughly by the shoulders.  
  
Morty's eyes fluttered open and closed several times, adjusting to the bright rays of light shining into the room from the window. “Can you close the blinds, Rick? It’s-it’s way too bright in here,” Morty groaned, pulling his covers back over his head.  
  
“Well you know, _Morty_ , it _is_ two in the afternoon, you know,” Rick snapped, pacing nervously around the room. “You missed school again.”  
  
“So? You used to make me skip school to hang out with you all the time, why do you care?” Morty mumbled, curling up on his side, in an effort to get comfortable. He shut his eyes once more, his head woozy, as if filled with cotton. “I’m sick, man.”  
  
Rick snorted, stopping in his tracks. “Clearly,” he scoffed, arms folded against his chest. “So, so how long have you been-been taking benzos, _Morty_?”  
  
Morty froze, taken aback by Rick’s accusation. “W-what are you t-t-talking about, Rick?” he lied feebly, feigning ignorance.  
  
“Let me rephrase that question, Morty. Make it easier for your tiny brain to comprehend,” Rick snapped, rolling his eyes. “Why did I find you asleep in my bed last night with-with with _these_ clenched in your fist?” Rick continued, producing the vial of xanax from his lab coat pocket.  
  
Morty froze, eyes widening in shock. “R-rick,” he whispered, matching Rick’s stormy gaze.  
  
“R-rick, I just, I-I-I,” Morty stammered, scooting as far away from Rick as he could without leaving the bed.  
  
“Morty,” Rick sighed, shaking his head. “We-we’ve gotta talk about this. What are you doing, kid? I thought you didn’t, that-that you-” Rick paused, brow furrowed.  
  
Morty watched as Rick fidgeted uncomfortably in place, lips quivering as he struggled to continue his train of thought. “I-I thought that you didn’t-didn’t want to end up like me, Morty.” he concluded at last, head bowed down shamefully.  
  
“I just- I thought- I-I I just wanted to dial down the pressure a little bit,” Morty stammered, looking anywhere but in Rick’s direction.  
  
“So how long have you been taking these?” Rick asked, shaking the medicine bottle slightly.  
  
Morty shrugged. “I dunno. On and off for a few months. Just when-when I need them. I could-could get prescribed them if I wanted to, _Rick_. I have anxiety. I _need_ something to calm me down.”  
  
Rick shot him a furtive look but said nothing, beginning to pace the room once more.  
  
“You’re not really one to talk, Rick. I’m not the one who’s a an-”  
  
“Morty,” Rick hissed, cutting him off. “I don’t need a fucking lecture from you right now. This isn’t about _me_ ; this is about _you_ , Mortimer Smith, who has been popping zannies to get to fucking sleep at night. _You_ , who has missed two days of school because you’re taking too much and have been sleeping through your alarm. You can’t-can’t keep doing this, Morty.”  
  
“What do you care?” Morty shouted, throwing his covers off of him and rising out of bed. “Why the fuck do you care? You’re the one who-who, who led me on like a fucking _asshole_. I fucking thought you- and you just... Fuck you, Rick. I hate you. I hate you so much!” he shouted, red-faced and furious.  
  
“Morty,” Rick started, reaching out to lay a hand on Morty’s shoulder.  
  
Morty cringed, backing away from Rick’s touch. “Don’t touch me. I don’t- you’re-you’re just a huge asshole. Maybe if you didn’t- if-if you cared about anyone besides yourself, didn’t push me away every time I tried to-to... Then I wouldn’t _need_ to take the edge off,” he hissed, gesturing wildly.  
  
“I’m a fucking alcoholic slash drug addict who’s sexually attracted to my fucking underage grandson, for FUCK’s sake, Morty, even _I_ know I’m disgusting. Sorry for-for trying to _protect_ you from myself. I’m a fucking-fucking predator, Morty. I’ll ruin you like I ruin everyone, god I don’t- I-I don’t want to and look, this just- I’m doing it, anyway. You’re-you’re doing _this_ and-and it’s my, my fault. D you think popping pills won’t lead to anything else, Morty? You think it’ll just stop at that?”  
  
Morty shook slightly, breathing heavily through his nose. _Who the fuck does he think he is, acting all high and mighty? He’s one to talk, fucking alcoholic piece of shit. Wants to come at me about one little thing I’m doing, yet can’t even open up to me about his own fucking problems._ “Can you just tell me one thing, Rick?” he asked, eyeing the older man critically.  
  
“W-what?”  
  
“Was, were you- are you actually thinking about-about getting sober? Or is looking up rehab facilities just something you do for kicks?”  
  
Rick froze, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “W-what are you talking about, Morty?”  
  
Morty stared him down, shooting Rick a knowing look. “Does _Healing_ ring a bell?”  
  
_Silence._  
  
Rick stood still, nervously shoving his hands into his pockets, his lips pursed shut.  
  
“Why can’t you just open up to me? If you’re thinking-thinking about going- going to... to sober up, why couldn’t you just tell me? I _want_ to be there for you. I _want_ to help. Why do you keep pushing me away? You don’t have to do this alone.”  
  
Rick shook his head, slowly turning to head for the door. “I should go,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  
  
“Rick, wait-”  
  
“Morty, it’s- it’s not that easy, it’s I don’t _want_ to talk about it,” Rick interrupted, pausing at the doorway.  
  
“I meant what I said when-when I told you I could make you forget. God, all I want is to make you forget about-about whatever it is that makes you do this to yourself,” Morty stammered, flinging himself onto Rick, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I-I love you. Why-why don’t you love me? Why won’t you just love me back?”  
  
“Morty,” Rick sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Morty, c-c’mon, you-you know I love you, you little shit,” he sighed, hugging Morty back.  
  
“Let me help you. Please. I want-want to help you through this.”  
  
Rick sighed, breathing in Morty’s scent. “Okay,” he said at last, exhaling through his nose. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue what sparked this, but I wanted to explore the idea of 'what would happen if Rick tried to stop drinking?' I feel like being in such a compromised, vulnerable situation would be an ideal opportunity for Rick to let his guard down and actually give in to his desires. The next chapter will be more explicit; think of this as more of a set-up for what's to come.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!! And I'm hell0lust on Tumblr if you want to chat.


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